


What a Philosophy!

by thebermuda



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpha Severin, Dystopia, Enthusiastic Consent, Knotting, M/M, No mpreg, Omega Jim, Omega Richard, Omega Verse, Privilege, Soul Bond, War, beta Sebastian, pre-heat consent, severich
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-07
Updated: 2015-01-15
Packaged: 2018-01-11 12:55:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 86,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1173327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebermuda/pseuds/thebermuda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alphas are killers. Ravishers and brutes. At least that's what Richard's been told, and he believes his brother. </p><p>Omegas are homemakers. Partners the army's always promised. Severin was drafted into the army when he was barely a man, but he's finally been released and he's ready to start his life. All he needs is a home and a mate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Life After War

Severin had been cold on the airplane, but was colder as soon as he stepped into the airport. He remembered England’s cold as he hadn’t in years: it started in your bones, and grew outwards. 

He picked up his luggage. He didn’t have much. Alphas were given a life of guns and tanks and explosives, and at the age of thirty-eight it was all snatched away, replaced by things much sweeter: their considerable army pensions, which would get them the best flats in London; their elite ex-military status, sure to attract any omega. They would have homes and sweet homemakers – little life partners that, once mated, would hold them close and tight when they woke up sweaty from their nightmares. Because that was how it would go, Severin was sure. Alphas didn’t just leave the war behind them. 

Severin hadn’t seen many omegas in his life, only the rare ones found in village brothels, where they’d pay Severin to fuck them through their heats. The older army alphas had bonded omegas; his commander had had one. The commander would bring the omega around sometimes, and Severin would get to watch them together, envy how they spoke with their eyes, moved in unison. Then his commander was blown to pieces. 

They’d asked Severin to replace him. He escaped by a hair’s breadth, or rather by three days: Three days after his commander died, he turned thirty-eight. He’d given twenty full years of service. He was free. 

The airport was teeming with omegas. They moved differently than alphas moved, or maybe it seemed that way to Severin because he’d only ever known soldiers. They darted here and there, moved more freely. A petite woman with a big bush of hair passed Severin; he inhaled, and smelled a sweet, tangerine scent. A little too sweet. An omega walked with his alpha, the alpha’s arm draped around his shoulder. As an alpha himself, Severin couldn’t smell an alpha’s typical scent, but the omega he passed smelled definitely _marked._ Severin crinkled his nose. 

Outside an airport café, sipping on a coffee, was a little omega. Just over five feet tall, nearly two feet shorter than Severin, but of average height for an omega. He had a button nose and rosy cheeks. 

“Hey,” Severin said, without thinking. He didn’t feel self-conscious; he was in his uniform. It wasn’t unheard of for just-discharged alphas to find their mates in airports. Plenty of omegas waited around here to find themselves a soldier. There was a dearth of alphas in the world, after all; hordes of omegas were clawing for a partner, and who didn’t want to date a military alpha? 

The omega squeaked, nearly dropping his coffee. He stammered, voice soft, “S-sorry, I’m – I’m – I’ve already met someone.” 

Severin looked around, growl forming low in his throat. He hadn’t said anything about wanting a mate. He’d heard that, in the civilian world, every social interaction was dictated by your biology. Apparently it was true. 

“I just wanted to talk,” Severin said defensively. For some reason the omega’s eyes got big and he dashed away, back into the coffee shop. Severin continued on. 

He’d never smelled so many different scents before; betas smelled neutral, alphas never smelled at all. The omegas, though… It made his head rush, made it so he could focus on nothing else. Was the civilian world always like this? How did anyone ever get used to it? 

Soldiers were known for being more disciplined than the few alphas who escaped the draft. Severin suspected this was a lie, though, just one more false advantage brought up anytime someone challenged the draft: _It makes alphas more clear-headed._ Bullshit. He’d never smelled so many omegas before, and it was already driving him crazy. 

He wanted fresh air. He wanted warmth. 

He wanted an omega. 


	2. Natural

Even at the afterparty cameras were still flashing. This would all be in the newspapers tomorrow: the critics’ reviews, the pictures, the five star ratings. Music played, bottles of champagne spurted their celebratory fizz as corks popped, the room was alight with the glamour that settled over the cast of a well-received performance. Even omegas could become celebrities if they were actors, and that night their alpha director, A. Inge, was proud of every one of them. 

That’s why she liked being unbonded: rather than feeling connected to only one omega, she could look around the room and feel a distinctly alpha pride for all of her actors. Inge had escaped the draft by becoming a director, but she would have made plays no matter what. Looking at her omegas was the best feeling in the world. There across the room was little O. Aki, his cheeks glowing pink as a night’s worth of champagne caught up with him, sweet O. Millie, so dainty in her gown. And there was O. Richie… 

Inge let out an instinctive, protective growl. She couldn’t help it; she spent half her time hovering over Richie at every premiere, every Q and A, every afterparty. Because he was surrounded by alphas. He was circled now by half a dozen; they towered over him in their tuxes and gowns, leaning down so that they could hear his soft voice as he spoke. He was looking at his shoes, speaking intently, playing shy as if he wasn’t used to the attention. Inge knew better. The strange omega basked in it. Every now and then, Richie would look up, glance in one of the alpha’s eyes. That alpha would be left with a dazed smile, Richie’s big eyes casting their omega spell like nets. 

When he finished talking, all the alphas laughed politely. One ruffled his hair, and another leaned forward to helpfully pick a piece of lint off his suit. Richie never let them get too handsy, but he wouldn’t stop them from giving him compliments, cheek kisses, gifts. After every public event, Richie was left with suitors that would follow him around for months. Inge felt for them; she, too, had once hoped he’d want to bond with her. But once Richie tired of an alpha, he would simply raise his hand and, in that sweet, omega way of his, tell them to be on their way. 

It wasn’t natural. His charm was natural, of course – any omega could have half a dozen alphas wrapped around their little finger if they so wished. But they weren’t _supposed_ to wish. Richie should have picked a mate by now. Being single at thirty wasn’t natural for an omega, and an omega being flirtatious wasn’t natural at _any_ age. 

“He’s doing it again.” A light voice, like a caress, sounded in Inge’s ear. She looked down. The female lead of her play, O. Tani, was batting her eyelashes up at Inge. Tani smelled sugary with an imminent heat, and Inge stopped herself from visibly inhaling. That wouldn’t be professional. 

“I’d be ashamed to be him,” Tani whispered. “Isn’t he _embarrassed?”_

Personally, Inge thought Richie must be sad rather than embarrassed. Unmated and alone, but so obviously hungry for alpha attention. He couldn’t get enough of it. He’d rejected her advance years ago, but she still saw the way he inhaled every time she got near him during rehearsals, the way he sought her attention and approval onstage like only an affection-starved omega would. Why he wouldn’t mate was a mystery and – with a face and personality as cute as his – a crime. 

She turned her attention back on Tani. 

“I think he’s lonely,” she said. 

Tani nodded. “If he’s lonely, he should pick one alpha and stick to them.” 

“You’re unmated yourself, aren’t you, O. Tani?” Inge asked, as if she couldn’t smell Tani’s single status as plain as the sweat on her skin. This day in age, it was professional to pretend that the world was cut off from its own biology. They were even considering changing the prefixes – A., O., and B. – to some other, neutral form of address. People were saying that not hiring alphas or omegas for certain jobs was discrimination. Inge didn’t understand it. She was an alpha. She was a director. Alphas _directed._ Omegas couldn’t do her job, and shouldn’t try. 

“Single for now,” Tani said, frowning. Tani was only twenty. She had a few years before her unmatedness seemed abnormal. 

“You are too, aren’t you?” Tani asked. She averted her eyes. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to pry – ” 

“I am,” Inge said. Pleasure grew in her chest as Tani apologized. It showed reverence, submission. Attraction. 

“I’m surprised,” Tani said. “You’re surrounded by omegas all day, and you’ve been a director for so many years…” 

Inge shrugged. “I’m looking for the right omega. Actors are…different. You give an omega a stage and they think they own the world. I’m not looking for an omega like that.” 

“I’m not different, A. Inge,” Tani disagreed, dark cheeks turning pink. “I became an actor because I knew I’d always have an alpha director to guide me, tell me what to do.” 

Guide. Direct. Order. Yes. 

Tani’s heat was near. A week? How long? Twenty years-old, right around when an omega’s heats got tough… They weren’t hard to deal with at first. A young omega in heat could still go to school in the beginning. By the end of their school years they might miss a few days as they stayed in bed, but having a mate at that point was more of a convenience than a necessity. At twenty, however, Tani was going to need someone to help her deal with what was coming… 

Inge put her hand on Tani’s shoulder. “You sound like my kind of omega, Tani.” 

Tani smiled. “I’m so glad.” 

Inge liked being an unmated director, it was true. But, as she looked at Tani, she realized that she would much rather have someone by her side, one true companion. 

It was, after all, only natural. 


	3. Strange

Severin was awake when the hotel alarm clock went off, not because he’d awoken early but because he hadn’t slept at all. Something about seeing your commander get blown to bits, maybe, or the anguished look his omega had worn when Severin got back to the barracks to tell him the news. The omega had already known. 

No use thinking of that now. He rose. On the bedside table was a key, given to him for his last birthday. 

“One more year,” Sebastian had said. Then freedom. 

One year passed, he was back in England, and it was time to see his brother. He’d live with Sebastian until he found a place of his own; he would have gone to see him yesterday, but Sebastian was working out of the country. Severin wasn’t sure if the omega, James, would be home, but he hadn’t particularly wanted to find out. Nothing wrong with the omega, of course. Just that omegas typically had one of two reactions to alphas: reverence and awe, or utter contempt. James fell into that latter category, and Severin didn’t feel like enduring it any longer than he had to. 

* * * * 

_La da da dee, da da doo dooo da dee._

Richie hummed as he dusted Jimmy’s big oak dresser. Last night at the premiere, an alpha had given him her handkerchief when he’d sneezed. He was using it as a duster. The scent it gave off put him in a good mood. 

He didn’t necessarily want to dirty it up by cleaning with it, but he knew that Jimmy would throw it out as soon as he smelled _alpha_ on it. Maybe Richie would get to keep it if he convinced Jimmy it made an extra fine duster. 

_La da da deeeeeee._

As he passed the calendar on the wall, he marked an X through the day. There were sixty-one days until his next heat. His body was always regular, almost down to the hour. 

After that, he glanced around the bedroom. The bed was made, the carpet freshly washed. The curtains had been slapped out, the oak of the dresser polished, then dusted. Everything was perfect for Jimmy and Seb’s return tonight. All he had left to do was make dinner. 

He gave his handkerchief one more good sniff, the dust making him sneeze, before he – 

Alpha. 

The handkerchief dropped. 

Scent, through the door, so vivid he could _see_ it, _feel_ it. 

Alpha. 

His mouth was open, salivary glands activated. He was getting wet, and not just in his mouth. He staggered forward, trying to catch more of the scent. Coherent thought was lost, no questioning about who’d entered the apartment, how they got past the security. Sixty-one days went out the window: he was hot, sweat dripped down his back, his groin and arse ached with need. 

Alpha. 

He poked his head out the hallway and saw: Seb. 

No, not Seb. A resemblance, but – 

Alpha. 

* * * * 

Severin smelled it as soon as he walked through the door. A faded metallic, omega scent clung to everything in the flat – that was James. But there was a different omega scent, so much stronger and more appetizing. An omega was here somewhere, and they were in heat. Severin wasn’t asking why, only _where._

Aww. There he was, standing down the hall. He looked just like James, but he wasn’t, he smelled completely different. He was panting, poor thing, all alone in the midst of a heat. Severin stepped forward. 

“Hello,” he said quietly, surprised at how soft his normally deep, rough voice became. Like he was cooing at a feral creature. “What’s your name?” 

Who had left this omega all alone? Why wasn’t there an alpha around to help him? 

The little omega’s fair cheeks were flushed with blood, burning red. Tiny thing swayed on his feet, he could hardly stand. Severin dashed forward, reached out to help him. 

The omega looked up at him, eyes bleary, and kept looking up – no, he was tilting back his head, exposing his neck. Severin hadn’t realized it, but he himself was leaning forward, as if he meant to bite – 

This wasn’t supposed to happen. He never got the urge to bite unless he was knotted with an omega, and even then it didn’t feel like this – like this – _need –_

The omega squeaked out a word, probably his name. Severin jolted back, breathing into his own sleeve, trying to clear his head. Soldiers were supposed to be clear-headed. Clear. Didn’t pounce on every omega in heat. 

“What was that?” Severin asked, still holding the little one in his arms. He was taking shallow breaths only, wouldn’t look the omega in his eyes... 

“Bed.” 

“Sorry?” Severin said. 

“Bed,” the omega cried more urgently, pulling at Severin’s shirt. “H-help me. Please, please help me.” 

Severin did it: he looked the omega in the eyes. Big, brown eyes gushing with overwhelming need. Once he gazed into them, he couldn’t look away. Hypnotic. 

“Yes,” he breathed. “Bed. Show me. Where?” 

But the bed idea didn’t seem important to the omega anymore. He was leaning forward, wrapping his arms around Severin’s neck, squirming his hips – ah, jeans, yes, he needed rid of those, wasn’t lucid enough to realize he had to take them off. That’s why Severin was here, to strip him, to help. 

Severin’s hands reached for the omega’s zipper. 

“Shh,” he was cooing. “It’s okay, little one. It’s – ” 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” The same voice as the omega, but different. Severin felt a blow to the back of his head, but it wasn’t hard enough to throw him off. He was so consumed with the omega squirming against him that he didn’t respond to it, kept reaching for the zipper. 

James dashed around him and grabbed at the omega, taking him by the waist and hauling him off of Severin. He pulled so tight that the omega’s grip was broken. 

The omega screeched, cried, reached out for Severin. 

“You’re hurting him!” Severin said angrily. He stood, showing James his full height, about to launch forward. 

Strong hands yanked him back. 

“Severin, control yourself,” Sebastian said, calmer than James. Severin was still focused on the omega’s eyes, on his silent begging. 

_I need you._

“Let GO,” Severin growled. He propelled his arms backwards, elbows jutting into Sebastian’s ribs. Sebastian was strong for a beta, but Severin would always be stronger. Sebastian released him with a grunt. James was dragging the struggling omega down the hall. Severin ran, but – 

More hands on him. Not just Sebastian’s. 

Severin growled, nearly howled. His lips were curled back, teeth bared. He snapped at the air, trying to get at his aggressors. 

He was forced to watch as the omega, who gave a good fight of his own, was forced into a room by his brother. The door slammed shut, and Sebastian rushed forward to locked it from the outside. 

The omega’s cries were drowned out. 

“Take him outside,” Sebastian ordered. There were two men, probably bodyguards, holding back Severin. One was a beta, the other an alpha – clearly mated, going by how the omega's scent seemed to hold little temptation for him. “He needs fresh air.” 

Sebastian looked at Severin. Severin was quickly losing his growl. “Christ, Severin,” Sebastian said softly. “Are you a fucking animal?” 

He knew that was Severin’s most hated insult. 

* * * * 

Couldn’t think, couldn’t speak. Dark. Sound. Voice. Jimmy. 

“You need toys, sweetie. Don’t you want this nice dildo up your arse? Take off your pants, I can help you.” 

Jimmy tried to approach him and he scrambled away, kicking out. He might have been screaming, he couldn’t hear. Alpha. Alpha. He still smelled it. He was shaking. 

The alpha – alpha had wanted him, had been about to help him. Alpha’s lips – needed – 

“Shh, don’t cry, little brother. Let me fuck you with a strap-on.” 

But Jimmy smelled like omega, and his strap-on was big but it felt like plastic, and there was an alpha outside, just through the door. 

He kicked Jimmy back and sobbed. 

* * * * 

Jimmy came in and out periodically. He offered toys, food, even pain medication. Richie refused everything, always begging for the alpha instead. Jimmy plugged up the crack under the door with towels, to stop the scent of the alpha from flooding through. That just made it worse. Before the scent had surrounded him like a blanket, warmed him. Normally he liked to smell the scent of an alpha, but he could _feel_ this alpha’s scent. He tried to explain this, through his pain, to Jimmy. 

“Don’t be silly, Richie, that's impossible,” Jimmy said. “Can’t you stop rolling around? Stay on the towels. You stain my sheets when you move like that.” 

When Richie could feel himself approaching the end – his heats passed, he thought, simply when his body was too exhausted to keep yearning – Seb came in. 

“Hey, Richie,” he said quietly. “Anything I can get you?” 

“Alpha,” he moaned. He hoped that, if he refused everything else, they’d finally let the alpha in. 

“Come on, Richie, you know that’s not what you want,” Seb said. “You want an alpha to come in and mark you? Then you can’t stay with Jimmy and me, you know.” 

Richie began to cry. 

“It’s okay. Let us help you.” 

The heat was nearly over. One orgasm and he’d be done, the pain would be gone. So he let Seb on top of him. Jimmy couldn’t fuck him when he was in heat – his tiny cock would just slip out of Richie’s wet, gaping hole. Seb was big for a beta, and could manage it. 

He never knotted, of course. He could plug Richie up with his fist, or a toy, and eventually Richie would climax. Sometimes Richie didn’t ejaculate, and he’d never gone into the blissful state other omegas told him about – the twenty minutes of pure pleasure and relaxation, when they were attached to an alpha. A fist or a toy might feel like a knot, but his body knew the difference. 

When he was done coming, he collapsed onto the sheets. Seb hovered over him. “Do you want me to hold you, Richie?” Seb asked. 

Richie said weakly, “Alpha.” 

* * * * 

That night – a week after he’d gone into his early heat – Richie cleaned himself off. He showered for ages and changed into his favorite plaid pajamas. The ache in his arse and groin had vanished, but he was sore. He coughed; a cold was coming on. The bedroom smelled like his wetness, and made him sad. 

He padded out into the hallway, feeling better as soon as he breathed in air that wasn’t tarnished with his own heat-scent. The hallway contained his brother’s comforting scent, Seb’s familiar smell. And the alpha. It didn’t overwhelm him like last time, but it still affected him more than the typical alpha’s scent did. It plucked a different reaction, this time: made him feel comforted, cozy. At home. He followed the scent into the living room. 

There was the alpha on the couch. Jimmy in his favorite armchair – it was a big chair, built for alphas. It practically swallowed Jimmy up. Seb was on the floor. He saw Richie first. 

“Welcome back, Richie,” he said, smiling. The alpha was smiling at him, too; Richie caught him eyeing Richie’s pajamas. Oh, that smile made him feel good. He let out a hum, bounced on the balls of his feet. The hum hurt his sore throat. He deliberated for a moment, three pairs of eyes on him. He knew what he wanted to do, but Jimmy was watching and he didn’t even know the alpha’s name, after all. So he did it to Jimmy instead of the alpha. 

He ran into Jimmy’s arms, curled up into his lap. Jimmy hugged him tight. 

“Hi,” Richie said breathlessly. He turned to look at the alpha. 

Richie saw him more clearly than he had when he was in heat. Before he’d registered only that the alpha looked like Seb, but more _alphic._ Now Richie saw the way he was taller, nearly seven feet. Big even for an alpha. His shoulders were broader than Seb’s, his jawline squarer. He was hard, muscular. What would it be like to sit on _his_ lap? 

“Hello,” the alpha said. Richie was suddenly embarrassed, felt himself blush as the alpha looked at him. He ducked away, pushing his head between his knees. 

Seb laughed. “No need to be shy, Richie. We won’t let Severin bite you.” 

Richie peaked up. Severin. 

Severin didn’t look pleased. “You know I wouldn’t have actually – ” 

“Yeah, right. Of course, brother,” Seb said. He was still chuckling. Then, quite suddenly, he yawned and stretched. “Well, I’m off to bed. You, Jim?” 

Jimmy didn’t let Seb call him ‘Jimmy.’ That was a name for an omega. Jim would be his name if he were a beta, and that’s what he used in business. Sometimes Jimmy let Seb used his omega name when Jimmy was in heat, but that was it. 

“Of course,” Jimmy said. They both rose, Jimmy giving Richie a hair ruffle before he left. Richie was grateful: They were really going to clean up the wet mess Richie had made of the bed they all shared, but they weren’t going to announce that to the alpha. To Severin. 

Severin. 

Richie was suddenly alone with him. 

He had to control his breathing carefully, so that Severin wouldn’t see the way Richie wanted to gulp up his scent. But when Richie inhaled only shallowly, he soon became breathless. 

“Sebastian said I triggered your heat early,” Severin said. 

Richie groaned, mortified. “Ooh. Why would he tell you that?” 

“Don’t be embarrassed,” Severin said seriously. “I just wanted to apologize. I shouldn’t have come here unannounced like I did. But anyway, it’s over now – ” He interrupted himself with a cough. Strange; alphas almost never got sick. He cleared his throat. “I brought it up only to say that it doesn’t matter. I was hoping we could leave all of that behind us, and start again. What do you think?” 

“Oh, umm…” Richie bit his lip. “Well, I mean… I would love to, but – ” 

This time, _he_ was interrupted with a sneeze. Severin frowned. 

“Are you sick?” he asked. 

“I always get sick after heats,” Richie admitted. “Just a few days. I’ll have a sore throat, achy bones, fever, tears…” 

“Tears?” 

“I cry after heats,” Richie said. “I don’t know why.” 

“I’m sorry.” Severin really did look concerned, eyebrows knitting. “Anyway, I didn’t mean to interrupt you. You were saying?” 

“Oh! Only that I… Well, I mean, I live with my brother and Seb. And they’re not alphas, I know, but I love them and intend to keep living with them, you see. So…” 

“Wait, Richard. That’s not what I meant,” Severin said. 

Richard. He hadn’t heard that name in years, not since he presented as omega. That was the name he would have kept if he’d been an alpha. 

Severin continued, seeming unaware he’d said anything strange: “I didn’t mean anything like _that._ Only that I thought we could be friends, if you wanted. Have a new introduction – one a little less…biological. Here.” Severin put out his hand. “My name’s Severin. It’s nice to meet you.” 

Richie stared at the hand. He said, “What do you mean? ‘Friends’?” 

“Don’t you have friends, Richard?” 

“Yeah. Omega and beta friends,” Richie said. 

“You wouldn’t want an alpha for a friend?” Severin said. 

“I’m not looking for a mate,” Richie said blankly. 

A small smile crept on Severin’s lips. “I know. But maybe I just want you to be my friend.” 

Richie blinked. “Why?” 

“Because you seem interesting. Sebastian told me you’re an actor, a novelist, and a playwright. You _sound_ interesting. Maybe I want to know about the stories you tell.” 

“Alphas don’t like stories,” Richie blurted. 

“Please don’t presume to tell me what I do and do not like,” Severin said, softly but sternly. Richie lowered his eyes. “You don’t have to be my friend, Richard, I just – ” 

“Why do you keep calling me ‘Richard’?” Richie asked. 

“Isn’t it your name?” 

“Yeah, but… But I’m an omega,” Richie said. 

“Would you prefer ‘Richie’?” Severin asked. 

Richie thought for a moment. Then he said honestly, “I don’t know.” 

“So I can call you Richard, if I like?” Severin asked. 

Richie nodded. Then he said: “And you can be my friend, too, if you like.” 

He shoved his hand forward, blushing furiously. He said, “It’s nice to meet you. My name’s…Richard.” 

Severin smiled and shook his hand. As soon as their hands touched, Richard felt a shock between them. Rather than pulling back, though, it was as if his hand had a mind of its own: it gripped much more tightly to Severin’s than a handshake necessitated. Severin’s hand, too, lurched into his like a magnet. 

Eventually they pulled away. 

Richard said, “You really think alphas and omegas can just be friends?” 

“Of course, Richard,” Severin said. 

Now Richard giggled. He was starting to think it was funny. “You’re strange, A. Severin,” he said. 

“Please don’t call me ‘A.’ Not if we just want to be friends,” Severin said. “And you can call me ‘Sev’ or ‘Rin’ if you’d like. I know ‘Severin’s’ a mouthful.” 

Sev or Rin would be his beta name, if he were a beta. Richie decided to stick to ‘Severin;’ it sounded tough and alphic, and Richie liked how tough and alphic Severin was. 

“Have you ever been friends with an omega before?” Richie asked. 

Severin shook his head. “I haven’t known many. I just got out of the war.” 

“Oh!” Richie was embarrassed. “I’m sorry. Of course, I should have known – ” 

“It’s alright, Richard. Ask whatever you’d like.” 

Richard wanted to ask a lot of things, but he began with: “If you’ve never had an omega friend, how do you know it will work?” 

“I don’t know anything,” Severin said. “I’m just tired of everyone believing they know everything. Why shouldn’t omegas and alphas be friends? I’m tired of everyone believing what the government tells us about how things should be. I believe we can all experience all sorts of relationships, but we’ll never know, because we’ve never ventured to try them.” 

“What a belief,” Richie breathed, mystified. 

“Is it really so strange?” Severin asked. “Look at you, James, and Sebastian. You all seem perfectly happy together.” 

“Jimmy and Seb love each other,” Richie said. They would never say so, but he knew it was true. 

Severin smiled. “All sorts of things can happen, see? Now, I was wondering if I could read something you’ve written – ” 

Severin was interrupted as Richie broke out into a coughing spell. Severin leaned forward, touching Richard’s back protectively. With his other hand he touched his own throat. 

Once the coughing was over, Severin went back to the couch, as if he’d never touched him. Just instincts. Richie supposed that if they were going to be friends, they’d have to try to ignore them. 

Richie smiled at him. “Of course you can. I was just in a show I wrote. I can show you the script, if you’d like…” 

As the night progressed, Severin made tea for Richie’s aching throat. He made a mug for himself, too. They were both seated on the couch when Jimmy came out. 

“Time for bed, Richie,” he said. He eyed the tea. “Is that earl grey?” 

“Uh-huh,” Richie said. 

“Wrong kind of tea,” Jimmy said. “You know that’s not what helps your throat. Come on, you have five minutes before bedtime. Wrap things up.” 

Without acknowledging Severin, he left the room again. 

Richie didn’t want to go. Severin had just been giving Richie one of the most interesting interpretations of the play he’d yet heard. He wasn’t about to tell Severin this, but he’d heard that most army alphas couldn’t even _read_ , let alone read deeply. 

But an order was an order. 

“I better go,” Richie said. “Are you spending the night here?” 

“I’m here until I find my own flat,” Severin said. “Hopefully it won’t be too long.” 

“You’ll be in the guest room?” Richie asked. 

“Yes,” Severin said. 

“Oh.” Richie was stalling. He got up, but didn’t walk towards the hall. “Well.” 

“Good night, Richard. Feel better.” 

“Good night, A. Sever – I mean, good night, Severin,” Richie said. He felt like something else was supposed to happen. 

When nothing did, he left, glancing back one more time to get a last glimpse of the alpha. Severin was staring at him. 

* * * * 

Severin couldn’t sleep. He was having hot flashes, and his throat felt so swollen he could scarcely swallow. Richard must have passed something contagious to him through their handshake. He was sweating through his sheets. 

In the very early hours of the morning, the door to the guest bedroom creaked open. A little silhouette crept in, bringing with him a scent that seemed to work, for Severin, as a mood enhancer. He immediately forgot about his feverishness. 

“Severin?” Such a tiny voice. “Are you awake?” 

“Yeah, Richard. What do you need?” Severin asked. 

“Can I sleep in here tonight?” 

In the waking world, Severin would try to ignore the omega’s biology, focus on his books and art (as Severin had seen last night, the novelist’s popularity was well-earned). But Severin couldn’t read scripts in the dark; in the dark, he could only smell, hear a little voice that needed him. 

He slid over, making room on the bed, lifting up the blanket. 

“Of course,” he said. They hardly knew each other, but it didn’t seem at all strange for Richard to curl up next to him. There was no hesitation in it, no rolling on one side of the bed while Severin rolled to the other. Richard climbed right into his arms, and those arms were held open just for him. 

Severin fell asleep with Richard pressed against his chest, his nose pressed into Richard’s hair. 

* * * * 

A few hours later. At first Severin wasn’t sure why he’d awoken – it was still dark – but he registered immediately that his sore throat felt a bit better. He was less achy. 

Then: a lapping. He must have moved in his sleep, so that he was on his back, one of his arms lying straight up, hand resting over his head. His underarm was exposed, and a little tongue was lapping at it. 

Severin focused on keeping his breathing deep and regular, like he was still asleep. 

Richard was licking at his perspiration like a kitten with a bowl of milk. He licked softly, like he was afraid of waking Severin. Severin didn’t want to startle him, didn’t want him to stop. It actually felt quite nice. 

After the little kitten was done with his one side, he poked his head up, wanting to get at the other. Problem: Severin’s other arm was positioned downwards, underarm concealed. Severin decided to help him out. 

He lifted up his other arm. Richard gasped when he realized Severin was awake, almost scrambled off of him. Severin rested a hand on his back to stop him. 

Neither of them said anything. If they spoke, acknowledged this, it would be ruined. 

Richard positioned himself across Severin’s chest. Severin knew omegas were small, but Christ. Richard was just so tiny. Three Richards could fit across the span of Severin’s chest, almost. 

Richard ducked his head down, soft hair brushing against Severin’s upper arm as his tongue meant Severin’s underarm. He lapped less lightly now that he knew Severin was awake. Severin closed his eyes, free hand still resting on Richard’s back, and enjoyed. 

When Richard was finished, he stayed across Severin’s chest. He burrowed his face against Severin’s underarm and inhaled. 

This was their biology. 

* * * * 

Sometime during the early hours of the morning, before James or Sebastian had risen, Richard rose out of bed. Severin roused and, although they didn’t exchange a word, Severin knew Richard was going back to James’s bed, lest James find out he’d ever left. 

The unpleasant tingle in Severin’s throat was gone. He felt vaguely sad as he watched Richard leave the room, even though he knew Richard would just be down the hall. 

* * * * 

When Severin went to the kitchen a few hours later, he found James at the table, coffee steaming in front of him, newspaper in his hands. Sebastian was at his laptop. Richard was at the stove, spatula in hand. The smell of eggs pervaded through the room. 

“Don’t cook, Richard,” Severin said. “You’re not feeling well, sit down. I’ll get you something.” 

Richard opened his mouth to respond, but James said, “He feels fine now. Perfectly well. You’ve never gotten over a post-heat cold so fast before, have you, darling? Must have been the tea I gave you last night.” 

James couldn’t see past the newspaper, but Richard looked at Severin, giving him a small, secret smile. Severin returned it, taking a seat. He watched as Richard waltzed about the kitchen, preparing breakfast with what Severin thought must be his characteristic perkiness. Just as James had said, he was completely fine now. 

Severin didn’t think tea had much to do with it. 


	4. Key

Richie didn’t get to see Severin as often as he would have liked. There were nights he didn’t spend at home because he was out partying. These parties were as fun as they were obligatory – getting hired for the Next Big Thing didn’t just depend on his raw acting talent, it also depended on being in important people’s good books, which meant responding to their invitations. Alphas flirted with him as usual, but Richie no longer found them so appealing. It was strange: Richie brought Severin’s scent with him wherever he went, if only in his memory bank, and even the pale recollection of that scent easily outmatched the scents of the real alphas before him. 

On the few nights that week when he was home, he wasn’t permitted to sleep in Severin’s bed again. Not that he didn’t try. He rose around 2 A.M. once, planning to quietly sneak out from between Jimmy and Seb’s linked arms. Only when he tried to rise, Jimmy’s arm around him wouldn’t budge. 

“No,” Jimmy hissed. “Stay here, baby brother.” 

“I wanted a glass of water,” Richie fibbed. His brother detected lies like scents, though, even if Richie was an actor. 

“I’ll wake Seb if you insist on leaving,” Jimmy threatened. “Go back to sleep. Unless you want…?” 

To get fucked. 

  
Afterwards – after-afterwards, because Seb had eventually woken up and asked for his share, too, so that Richie was left on his tummy, two loads of come streaming from his hole – Jimmy stroked his hair away from his damp forehead.

“The alpha wouldn’t want you to come in, you know,” he said, his voice soft and rumbling, post-coital. 

“He wouldn’t?” Richie asked. 

“You’re just a distraction to him, Richie. He’s looking for a lifelong mate, and an omega like you – a free omega – will only be in the way of what he wants,” Jimmy said. 

Seb kissed Richie’s forehead. “Jim’s right, Richie. My brother wants to settle down.” 

So did Richie. He almost protested, until he remembered what settling down would mean for him. Then he said, “He told me we could be friends. Only friends.” 

Jimmy snorted, but Seb said, “That could be right, Richie. But tell me: Do friends usually sleep in each other’s beds?” 

Richie giggled. He said, “Maybe really _friendly_ friends…” and giggled some more. 

His giggling earned him more kisses, from both Seb and Jimmy this time. He sighed happily. 

“Let’s go get clean,” Jimmy said, rising. 

“Aww…” 

“Shush. You’ll get to sleep as soon as you’re clean, baby brother. Don’t wake us up if you don’t want to shower.” 

Reluctantly, Richie got up, saying, “Yes, big brother.” 

* * * * 

Well. Here he was. 

His new flat. The perfect, pre-furnished place for an alpha-omega couple; it’d been designed by some fancy schmancy architect, a beta who’d apparently double majored in Gender Studies in uni and knew all there was to know about what bonded alphas and omegas wanted from their shared homes. 

Apparently, Severin thought as he looked around, omegas wanted kitchens half the size of the rest of the entire flat. Apparently they wanted a huge bed in the bedroom, but various smaller (really small) nest-beds strategically placed all over the rest of the flat – under the coffee table, in the closet, in a fucking _kitchen cupboard._ Was this an actual human Severin was looking for, or was he looking to adopt a pet cat? There was a bloody hole cut out of the bedroom wall; Severin stuck his head into it and found a nest full of blankets and cushions, for an omega to fall asleep on. 

“Omegas like small, safe spaces to curl up in,” the real estate agent had told him pedantically when he’d been touring the place. 

“Great,” he’d murmured. “And what about this place, exactly, was built for the alpha half of the couple?” 

The real estate agent had laughed, as if the question were very funny. 

“I suppose this place makes an omega so happy that the alpha can’t help but be happy, too,” she’d said. She’d added, the beta expert on people like Severin: “Nothing can make an alpha happier than having a happy omega.” 

They’d been touring the bathroom at the time. Apparently omegas liked huge, _transparent_ bathtubs. Severin had said wryly, “Clearly.” 

Now he sat on his couch (as he would have guessed, _huge._ ). He had two keys in his hand, kept flipping them over, turning them this way and that. One was for his omega, once he bonded. 

He tried to picture the omega in his mind. A female, or male? Christ, he had no idea. It’d gotten more difficult to smell omegas, over the past week. Their scents weren’t so potent and distracting anymore, with the exception of Richard. This was a relief, of course, but it didn’t make finding a mate any easier. His unsuccessful daydream attempt was interrupted by the doorbell ringing. The ring was short, light; the ringer must have hardly pressed the bell. 

When he answered, he saw Richard standing before him, rubbing his boots on the welcome mat. He was holding a box in his hands. 

“Hello, friend,” he said brightly. “May I come in?” 

Severin inhaled. He still had his two keys in his hand. “Of course,” he said. “It’s great to see you, Richard. How did you…?” 

“Seb gave me your address,” he said, stepping in. Severin took the box from him. 

“It’s just a small housewarming gift,” Richard said, going pink at the cheeks.

“You shouldn’t have,” he said politely, setting the box down. 

“You’ll give me a tour, won’t you?” Richard asked, not in the scripted way, like he expected Severin would. He actually sounded a little unsure about it. 

“Welcome to the living room,” Severin said, gesturing grandly. Richard giggled. 

“The couch is big,” Richard said. 

“The couch is also made of scent-retaining material,” Severin said, imitating the real estate agent’s pedantic tone. “Regardless of how the furniture is cleaned, it’ll always retain the scents of the alpha and omega who live here.” 

Richard laughed at his tone of voice, but said, sincerely, “That sounds so lovely. I love it when my things smell like…” Richard went pink again, looking away. “That’s nice.” 

“Come down the hall,” Severin said. He pressed his hand against the small of Richard’s back. Richard let himself be led and, when he saw the bedroom, his eyes went big. Severin thought it was because of the sheer size of the bed, but instead Richard went, “Cubbyhole!” and ran to the hole in the wall. 

Without asking for permission, he jumped up and squirmed his way through the opening. It was just the right size for him. After a moment, he peaked out. His eyes were gleaming. 

“This place is _amazing,”_ he said. Severin laughed. 

“Because it has some pillows and blankets?” he asked. Richard nodded eagerly. 

“Come on. Let’s see the rest of the place,” Severin said. 

He hadn’t liked that beta real estate agent; he distrusted any beta who thought they knew how alphas and omegas worked. But, he thought, as he saw the way Richard’s big eyes got even bigger when he saw the kitchen, she’d been right. As he looked at Richard’s smile, he couldn’t imagine being happier. 

* * * * 

“Scent-retaining material, huh?” Richie asked. Don’t ask him how they ended up this way, but they did: cuddled on Severin’s couch. Severin was leaning against one of the armrests, his legs stretched out, and Richie was between his legs, head pressed against Severin’s chest, arms around his hard, solid middle. They were, Richie thought, pretty friendly friends. 

On top of them was Richie’s housewarming gift: a multicolored afghan he’d knitted. It would brighten up Severin’s mostly-white room. Richie figured that Severin had so much money, it wasn’t any use to buy him anything. And he’d seemed genuinely touched by the homemade present. 

“Yeah,” Severin said, rubbing Richie’s back. All of his touches were so light and gentle. No alpha had ever touched him with such care before. 

“Does that mean,” Richie asked, “that the couch is picking up _my_ scent, right now? Or that your sheets will pick up my scent, if you spread the afghan over them?” 

Severin owning something with his scent had been rather the point of the afghan, but he didn’t think he’d mention that to Severin. 

Severin smiled lazily, his eyes closed. He had such a beautiful mouth. 

“It does, Richard. I think it does.” 

* * * * 

One of the hippest clubs in London. VIP. 1 A.M. Surrounded by drunk betas, drunk omegas, a few tipsy alphas. Richard beside him, his scent making the music, the flashing lights, the hot bodies all around them tolerable. They were on a purple couch, and surrounding them were nearly ten alphas, all drooling over Richard’s every movement, every word. Severin had heard that Richard’s media nickname was the Snatcher because he snatched so many hearts. He was painted as a deviant by the press; Severin didn’t imagine most people realized how innocuous and simple his flirting really was. 

Severin was silent. He hadn’t talked much all night; the sheer sensory overload was straining him. He kept touching his hip, where his gun used to be. He was glad it’d been taken from him before he’d come into contact with any civilians. 

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t zhe little Richie Brook!” A male alpha with long, gold-yellow hair came strolling up to them, pushing two other alphas out of his way. He crouched down on his knees to be level with Richard. 

“Hello, Baptiste.” This would be the model, Baptiste Dubois, then. Even Severin had heard of him. He was one of the only alphas in the fashion industry, and one of the only people, period, who’d been given an international passport. Originally from France, he’d been given special permission by both governments to work in England. 

“It 'az been a long time,” Baptiste said, never having mastered the English accent quite perfectly. 

“It’s been a week,” Richard said, laughing. He turned to Severin. “Baptiste and I just did a shoot together.” 

“For AlphaMan magazine,” Baptiste added. How could he look so proud of being a model when other alphas his age were losing limbs on the battlefield? He was a coward who used his looks to escape his duty. 

After Baptiste said it, he turned all his attention onto Richard again, Severin evidently forgotten. He said, “'ow did we pose again, Richie? The photographer ate it up. Was it like zhis?” 

He sat next to Richard and, hovering his hand just over Richard’s knee, leaned down and placed his face very close to Richard’s, looking at Richard while Richard looked straight ahead. 

“Hmm…” Richard said. “I think your face was a bit closer.” 

Severin watched. 

“Zhis close?” Baptiste asked, his breath probably hot against Richard’s skin. Neither of them heard the low growl that rumbled in Severin’s throat. 

“Closer,” Richard teased. 

“Mm… Like this?” He leaned forward, resting his hand on Richard’s knee – 

Except he never made contact. 

Severin grabbed Baptiste’s wrist and snapped it. Baptiste yelled, falling off the couch, holding his broken wrist. 

“That’s _mine,”_ Severin snarled, standing up. He grabbed Richard, hauling him up too, and, as the alphas around them gawked – as _everyone_ around them gawked – grabbed Richard’s hair and pulled his head back, exposing his neck. He licked his neck in three long strokes, marking Richard with his scent. The message was clear to everyone. 

Baptiste managed to get up on his own. Far from angry, he said, in a shaky voice, one unused to pain, “I 'adn’t realized Richie was mated. I’ll stay away, sir.” 

“I know,” Severin said. He took Richard by the shoulders and pushed him forward. He said, “It’s time to go.” 

  
Everything became so much clearer once the club doors closed behind them. It was dark in the parking lot, and raining. The ground was sleek with wet.

Severin was renting a car for now; he’d had Richard pick it out. A sleek, flashy red thing that blended in with all the other flashy automobiles in the lot. 

Severin didn’t let go of him as he took him to the car. He guided Richard away from a patch of mud. There was a small, nagging voice in his head. His own, saying, _What the hell are you doing?_ Sebastian’s, saying, _Christ. Are you a fucking animal?_

He opened the passenger door and waited for Richard to get inside. He slammed the door shut and turned away. 

He’d been ready to kill. Actually kill someone, commit _murder,_ because they’d been touching his – because they’d been touching _an_ omega. Touching Richard. 

He was supposed to have left this all behind on the battlefield. 

He took a deep, steadying breath. The rain had soaked his hair and suit through. It proved to be cleansing. 

He walked in circles until he calmed down. Then he went to the driver’s door. Richard must want to be far away from him, of course, and he would have called for a taxi to take him home, but even now his instincts screamed that he needed to see Richard home himself, needed to make sure he was safe. 

He opened the driver’s door and buckled himself up as soon as he sat, as if to restrain himself. After he closed the door, they sat in silence for a few moments. Severin heard the dull thud of rain on his car roof and a low, pleasant rumbling. Was that his car engine? He hadn’t put his key in the ignition yet. 

Richard. The soothing sound was coming from Richard. 

Severin knew omegas purred, but it’d always been more of a factoid in his mind rather than a reality. He’d never heard it before. 

When he turned, he was surprised to see Richard staring at him with big, bright eyes. Those were dangerous eyes, almost predatory in their utter harmlessness. 

Severin tried to ignore them and recite the words he’d planned outside the car. He wasn’t going to ask for forgiveness, nor even apologize. Apologizing might give Richard the idea that Severin wouldn’t act like this in the future and, although Severin hated to admit it, he knew he would, over and over again. 

There was one thing that needed to be said, though. 

“I shouldn’t have called you ‘that,’” Severin said. The purring got louder, a deep rumble now. “I know who you are. You’re not a ‘what,’ you’re a who. You’re Richard.” 

“I’m ‘that,’” Richard objected. “‘That’ means property. Means I’m yours.” 

“Yes, but I know you’re not – ” 

Richard, who wasn’t buckled up, leaned his forehead against Severin’s arm. He hummed, “Yours, yours, yours.” 

Severin kept still. Far from waiting to hear an apology, Richard seemed to be on some kind of post-humiliation omega high. A kind of afterglow. He rubbed his skin against Severin’s, and Severin realized: He was being marked. Gently, lovingly marked. The scent coming from Richard enveloped them both. 

Severin laughed out, gleeful, delighted, fulfilled. Absolutely and unexpectedly completed by an omega’s spellbinding scent. 

Was this what Richard had felt when Severin had licked him? Of course he wasn’t angry, then. This was _wonderful._

“Yours,” Severin said lowly. 

Richard made a noise. He reached out for Severin’s buckle, releasing it and crawling onto his lap. He pressed a hand on Severin’s chest so that he would lean back, and then he nuzzled him. 

“You smell so good,” Richard said. “I can’t smell other alphas anymore, I can only smell you.” 

Oh, fuck. Idiot, idiot. Severin had thought he’d been gaining control of himself when he’d realized he could hardly smell other omegas anymore. Stupid – he was more out of control than ever. It was like Richard’s scent had caught him. 

“I wish I could go into heat right now,” Richard said yearningly. 

“No,” said Severin, stern. Richard could not go into heat in this kind of tight-space environment – Severin would snap. Or worse. Snap at Richard’s neck, and they’d be bonded forever, against the omega’s explicit will. Severin would want to die if he did something like that, but he wouldn’t even be able to, not without taking his omega with him. 

Richard was rubbing his whole body against Severin’s, so ready for what Severin could never give him. 

“No,” he said again. “Get off me. I need to drive you home.” 

“No driving.” Richard pouted. “I want you to mark me more. Please, please, please. Bite my neck. _Please.”_

Severin sighed. Even if he pushed Richard off of him, Richard would climb right back on. He could feel Richard’s chest vibrating with his purr. He said, “Go lay on the backseat, okay?” 

Richard squeaked with pleasure and hurried to follow the order. Severin himself had to get out of the car to follow him. Once outside, he heard a clicking sound. Looking over his shoulder, he saw three paparazzi – betas, always betas – in the distance, flashing their cameras at him. 

“Fuck off,” he called through the rain. All he had to do was lift one foot, as if he meant to approach them, and they scattered. Cowards. 

Severin got in the back. He closed the door, locked it – who knew if those creeps would come back? – and sat over Richard, mounting him. Richard tried to get up, scrambling at Severin’s chest, trying to unbutton his suit jacket. Severin pressed him back down. He knew what he was going to do, what he _had_ to do, but even so he felt merely like an actor following his lines. 

“What are you?” he began. 

Richard whispered eagerly, “Yours. I’m yours.” 

“Correct.” Severin couldn’t help himself: It _did_ bring him pleasure, he _did_ like hearing it. He added, “You’re an omega, right?” 

“Yes, Severin.” 

“Are you a good omega?” 

“Oh, yes, Severin.” 

“Then you’ll listen to what I tell you to do, won’t you?” Severin said. 

“Uh-huh. Yes. Tell me what to do, Severin!” 

“Stop.” Severin put a hand lightly around Richard’s neck. He could feel the omega’s frantic pulse. “That’s exactly what you _don’t_ do. You don’t order me. You don’t decide when I can tell you what to do. You don’t ask to be marked. I call the shots, Richard. _I_ do. Are you going to be obedient?” 

“Yes, Severin,” Richard breathed. It was difficult to see him in the dark, but his voice was fainter. A proper, submissive omega. Yes, Severin admitted to himself, it felt fucking good to hear that tone of voice. 

“Good. In that case, I’m going to get in the driver’s seat now, and you’re going to stay here. You’re not going to say anything. Can you control your purring?” 

“Uh-huh.” 

“Then stop it.” 

That delicious purr faded. Severin rose. 

  


Richard didn’t move until Severin stopped the car and said, “You can get up.” When Richard looked out the window, he squeaked. 

“Do you want to go home?” Severin asked immediately. He’d taken Richard to his place. He hadn’t intended to, really. His steering wheel had just sort of guided them there. 

“I can sleep over?” Richard asked. Then he said, “Oh, Severin. Thank you! I thought you were angry with me.” 

Severin got out of the car without saying anything. He opened the back door and helped Richard out. 

“Of course I wasn’t, Richard. I just needed you to let me drive us back,” Severin said. Richard hugged him before entering the apartment. 

  


There was a key on Severin’s bedside table. It’d been there for days. At night Severin would turn it over between his fingers, trying to imagine the omega he would meet. Nearly all of the soldiers who’d been discharged at the same time as him had found mates by now. 

He wanted an omega who blushed, who bit their bottom lip. Who talked back and listened at the same time. An omega with a career, who could have their own life while needing Severin all the same. An omega with an acting career. An omega who wrote scripts. An omega who had big, brown eyes and the sweetest way of saying Severin’s name. Who was so eager to crawl underneath Severin’s sheets and curl up in his arms, giving Severin his first good night’s sleep since he’d moved into his new apartment. 

  


“I have a spare key,” Severin said, the next morning at breakfast. Richard had made him eggs and sausage. “I want to give it to you.” 

“That key’s for your mate,” Richard said, popping a chunk of melon into his mouth. 

“I know,” Severin said. “But I don’t have a mate right now. When I get one, I’ll take it back. For now I just… I want you to come here whenever you’d like, okay? This flat is yours, if you’d like.” 

And Richard took the key, sure enough, just before he left. The apartment smelled faintly of him, and there was an anticipation in Severin, now, as he waited for the next time Richard would visit. 

“We’re such friendly friends,” Richard said, stepping out the door and giggling to himself. Did he know what kind of effect that giggle had? It made Severin want to grab him, pull him back in, and the lock the door so he couldn’t leave. 

Severin didn’t close the door until Richard was out of sight. 

When he turned around, Richard was sitting on his living room couch. A newspaper was in his hand, featuring Richard’s own face on it. He was smiling up at someone – yes, that was… That was Severin’s face. From when they were at the club. 

The headline read: “WAS THE SNATCHER FINALLY SNATCHED?” 

“Funny how you’ve focused on my little brother, alpha,” James said, setting down the paper. “One would think you wouldn’t be so very open about it,” he gestured to the paper, “seeing as how Richie is the one omega, in all this world, that I would kill for. Then, of course, I suppose alphas like you aren’t known for their tact.” 

He rose. 

Severin swung open his front door. 

“Get out of my apartment,” he said. 

“Oh, I was just leaving. Thought I’d surprise Richie by walking him to work. I only came to leave a message, _Rinny._ Do you know what happens if you sink your teeth into my brother’s neck?” He walked towards Severin at a leisurely pace, his dress shoes making indentations in the carpet. “Those teeth get torn out with pliers, and they will be fed to you, one-by-one, until you choke to death on your own enamel.” 

Severin gritted his teeth. He spat, “If I’ve already bitten him, that means we’re bonded. If I die then our bond would kill him, too.” 

“Better dead than owned,” James said. 

Severin was made sick and speechless. 

James gave him some sickly saccharine goodbye and swept out the door. Severin slammed it behind him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and critiques tickle my soul. :)


	5. Nurse

Richie watched as Severin came out from the bathroom and into the bedroom, towel wrapped around his waist. Steam didn’t pour out after him like it did when Richie took a shower. Severin must have his showers cold. Richie was torn between gawking at Severin’s bare chest and minding his privacy. He slipped his hand over his eyes just as Severin slipped off his towel. 

He listened to the rustling of Severin’s clothes as Severin picked them up, stepped into them. When he opened his eyes Severin was expertly buttoning up his shirt with one hand, fingers quick and nimble with routine. He stood so straight. Afterwards, he pressed his collar down, ensuring it was crisp and neat. He got a tepid glass of water from his dresser and drank it down in three gulps. His back was to Richard, but he was facing a mirror; Richie watched his shoulders move beneath his shirt, saw the reflection of his throat, the way it quivered each time he swallowed. 

Everything about Severin Moran exuded competency and confidence. Even when (he thought he was) alone, he didn’t fumble. 

When Severin set the glass down, he paused. Looked straight into the mirror. What was he…? 

Oh, shucks. 

He turned around and walked to the cubbyhole. Richie slid back, pulling his head out of the cubbyhole’s opening. The hole wasn’t big enough for Severin to crawl through, but he could poke his head in. 

Richie thought he would be mad. He really should have announced himself, but watching Severin awaken, rise, and dress had felt so intimate, he hadn’t wanted to lose that feeling. 

All Severin said was, “I didn’t know you were here, Richard.” He sounded cheery. His first words of the day included Richie’s name. 

“I was here last night,” Richie said. Severin looked surprised. 

“Why didn’t you let me know?” Severin asked. 

“You were already asleep.” Richie pulled a pillow close to him, using it to partially shield his face. “I didn’t want to wake you, but then, this morning…” 

He hid behind the pillow. He couldn’t verbalize the intimacy of what he’d just seen. 

Severin didn’t demand an explanation. He reached through the cubbyhole’s opening and touched Richie, scratching him behind the ear. Richie sighed contentedly, and all too soon the hand was pulled away. 

“I have an appointment to be at,” Severin said. “Will I see you later?” 

“I have today off,” Richie said. “Am I allowed to stay here while you’re gone…?” 

“Oh, I see how it is,” Severin said, smiling. “Now we’re asking for permission, are we?” 

Before Richie could respond, he said, “There’s no need to ask. Stay as long as you’d like.” 

* * * * 

Severin had worried needlessly that he’d put himself into a rut by giving Richard his spare key. What if, he’d thought, Richard simply never came over? Severin couldn’t invite him, now; if he had a key, after all, he would come if he wanted. 

Obviously there’d been no point in that speculation. Not only had Richard come, but he’d come the very morning Severin needed him – not that Richard knew that. But seeing him, hearing his sigh, had assuaged Severin’s nerves. 

As an alpha, he had an appointment with a government nurse every week. It was routine. He’d been doing it for twenty years, and would continue to do it until he found a mate. Didn’t mean he would ever get used to it. 

The office on this side of London was smaller than the one on his old base, but just as uncomfortable. The procedure wouldn’t take more than fifteen minutes, but Severin had to wait for an hour and a half in a cold, white waiting room before he was called in. 

He was led by a beta nurse to a room where his weight and height were recorded, a light briefly flashed into his eyes, a stick briefly pressed against his tongue. A couple of knocks on the knee, a peak into the ears. All was fine, obviously. Then into the next room he went. 

The omega nurse and beta supervisor were already there. The nurse was a man, the supervisor a woman. It’d been the opposite back at the base. 

They turned around, quietly discussed some file, as Severin unzipped his trousers. It didn’t matter, his mind was already trapped in a different room, back at his old base. 

This was a necessary procedure for all unmated alphas. It was free in the army, and would remain free for as long as it took for him to find a mate in the civilian world. It was a preventative service, clinical and routine. Almost every alpha went through it. Severin imagined Richard knew a few artistic alphas, draft-evaders, who hadn’t, and he despised and envied them for that. 

He still remembered being eighteen. He’d presented late in adolescence, and only a week later it was his birthday, and he was drafted. Sebastian got a cake and Father’s tuition for Oxford. Severin’s plans for an education were stripped away, replaced with a letter that started: _“Congratulations, You have been selected to serve in the Queen’s Army…”_

Severin had never been with an omega before he was drafted. Nothing in the army was explained to him. As a teenager he’d masturbated as often as any teenager does, came at least once every day. After he presented, the orgasms stopped. He couldn’t get an erection no matter how he touched himself, and yet he could feel an ache, building in his balls. He thought something had gone wrong, thought he had some terrible disease. Then he was summoned by a nurse. 

The nurse had been a pretty omega. She’d had long brown hair, always neatly tied back. She always smiled, kindly and professionally, when Severin entered the room, and every time Severin used to think that that was the smile she would wear when, one day in the infirmary, he would die while holding her hand. Whenever he got scared of dying, when he was eighteen, nineteen, twenty, he imagined her hand in his. 

There was always a beta supervisor – because despite all they said, the government didn’t trust even soldier alphas alone with omegas. He’d been an older, foul-mouthed man who took the concepts of “professionalism” and “inoffensiveness” and crushed them beneath the soles of his boots. 

Severin remembered being eighteen and entering the nurse’s room. He stood there, not sure what was going to happen. They’d already checked his height and weight, what more did they need? The nurse was smiling at him, patient. The beta checked his watch. 

“Jesus, boy, hurry up.” 

“S-sorry, Sir?” he’d asked. Wasn’t sure if he ranked higher than a beta nurse’s assistant, but tagged on the ‘Sir’ to be safe. 

“Get naked, come on. You’re wasting my time.” 

Severin blinked, horrified. Then, nervous about disobeying orders, he reached for his shirt. 

The beta sneered. “Just the fuckin’ trousers. Jesus Christ.” 

“Sorry, Sir,” he’d said, and frantically reached for his shoes, pulling them off. He tripped over himself in his haste and embarrassment. The nurse was scribbling on her clipboard, giving him privacy. The beta’s watery, gray eyes watched his every fumbling move. 

Taking out his soft penis seemed to last ages. The beta gazed at it coolly, upper lip twitching each time another inch of it was exposed. 

“Jesus, would you fuckin’ look at that?” he’d said. “You’ve got a fat fucking slug between your legs, boy. What does that feel like? Does it weigh you down?” 

Severin had been so shocked he hadn’t said anything. 

The nurse looked up at him. 

“Ready?” she said. 

He still had no idea what was happening. 

“Um, yes?” he said. 

She nodded. “Just sit down there, and take this.” 

It was a disposable measuring cup. 

“Try to relax,” she said. She guided him to a chair, told him to hold the cup under his penis. 

She brushed her ponytail over her shoulder, and Severin got a whiff of it as she did so. She was the second omega he’d ever smelled in his entire post-presented life. 

“Very good,” she’d said encouragingly, like a kindergarten teacher, as he began to get hard. Being exposed like that wouldn’t have been so bad, with her there, acting like it was no big deal, like he was doing the right thing, if the supervisor hadn’t opened his mouth. 

He snarled. “That’s not a slug, it’s a monster. Have you ever seen a dick that huge before, Nurse Abrams, even on these damn alphas?” 

The nurse ignored him and said, “Now just wrap your hand around yourself. Like that, that’s very good.” 

She wasn’t looking down at him, just into his eyes. There was, meanwhile, an ongoing commentary in the background: “Have you ever fucked an omega, boy? You know, I don’t think you’d be able to. That dick’s not going to fit into anything, not even a whore’s arse. Think he needs to see a surgeon, Nurse Abrams? It looks like he’s defective.” 

Severin had had to close his eyes, focusing on Nurse Abrams’s scent. She directed him to touch himself, bob his hand in a rhythm. She made her instructions sound very formal, made his jerking off feel clinical. Regardless, her scent, the sound of her voice, did something to him. He stayed hard and, gradually, felt pre-come swell over his tip. 

“Ugh, that’s fucking disgusting. It looks like it’s slobbering, don’t you think, Nurse Abrams?” 

Severin opened his eyes. He watched, horrified, as his cock released a steady stream of come. It dribbled into the cup below him. 

He felt good, although he wasn’t close to orgasm. More like foreplay. He’d never had come drip from him like that… And the supervisor was right: It looked like his cock was drooling. Ugly, was a word the beta used. His cock looked ugly. 

So that was how he found out about being an alpha: Can’t get hard, can’t masturbate, unless an omega’s present. Yet alphas _need_ to find some kind of release on a routine basis. He’d been exposed to government propaganda his whole life, learning that alphas were the strongest, the protectors of omegas, only to find out that he would be entirely dependent on the generosity of omegas for the rest of his life. 

Needless to say, every time there was a brothel near him he took advantage of it. One extra week away from the supervisor’s endless commentary was, for him, the closest he could get to happiness. And while omegas had never spent any time looking at his cock, they’d never complained about it, either. It seemed to bring them to orgasm well enough. 

Severin brought himself back to the present. 

Neither the nurse nor the supervisor were looking at him. Severin couldn’t really smell the nurse; he’d thought this would happen. He had difficulty getting hard, at first. He tried to laugh it off. He hated showing his cock to new people, even people as disinterested as these two professionals. 

“Having a bit of difficulty.” He chuckled, forced nonchalance. He should have asked Richard if he could bring one of Richard’s T-shirts or something, to smell. But he wouldn’t have been able to bare the humiliation of such a request. “Do you think you could keep talking…?” 

“Of course,” the nurse said pleasantly. “How has your adjustment to civilian life been so far?” 

“Pretty good,” Severin said numbly, rubbing himself. The omega’s voice was naturally attractive, and he felt the first dribble of come form at his tip. Slobber. He looked at the ceiling, hot-faced. 

“Have you found yourself a place to live?” the nurse asked. “I heard a lot of alphas are choosing to live in Surrey, nowadays, have you thought about that…?” 

He kept speaking, accommodatingly, until, suddenly, he glanced down at the measuring cup and said, “Ah, there we are. That’s quite enough.” 

He handed Severin a tissue to clean himself off, directed him to the sink to wash his hands, and the whole thing was over. Perfectly professional. 

Severin still felt like throwing up when he left. He was breaking out in sweats, just like always. He used to have to do this every Wednesday in the army, and right afterwards he’d have his drills. Wednesdays were always the days when he’d fuck up the most, get punished, be an overall pitiful excuse for a soldier. He hated Wednesdays, hated that some beta could affect him so much. He’d thought about reporting the supervisor, before, but he knew he’d just be laughed at. Alphas were supposed to be proud of their cocks. 

Severin made it back to the flat, hoping Richard had left by now. He didn’t want Richard to see him strung up like this, for no reason, for something that shouldn’t matter to an alpha. 

* * * * 

Severin kicked off his shoes, shrugging out of his coat as fast as possible, leaving it on the floor by the door. He locked the door, clicked the deadbolt into place. He went into the bedroom and closed that door, too. 

You know what? Severin wasn’t a soldier anymore. He was in the civilian world. He didn’t have to do drills directly after the nurse’s appointment. He could do what he wanted, now. 

Right now, he wanted to lie beneath his duvet with the shades pulled over his windows. And he was going to lie there for as long as he wanted, until he stopped feeling nauseous. 

He closed his eyes, focusing on the darkness. He was still fully dressed. He didn’t want to see his body. Oversized, deformed. Wanted to hide, feel small on top of his enormous bed. Unalphic, weak. Defective. 

Suddenly, the stale air beneath the duvet turned fresh, cold air rushing in as the duvet was lifted. From the scent that drifted in he realized that Richard had never left the flat. 

Severin closed his eyes. He didn’t say anything, couldn’t. He was glad he hadn’t undressed. 

Richard let the duvet back down again once he was laying down, too. Severin waited for him to speak. 

He didn’t. 

Instead, he felt a small hand press lightly against his back. 

The effect was immediate: like light, streaming into him. With his eyes closed he could imagine it, a great silver rush. It felt like energy flowing through his bloodstream, pumping into his heart. Like warmth and radiance. 

He shook from the force of it. He could run miles without breaking a sweat but he was suddenly breathless. 

Richard hadn’t moved. 

Severin turned to his other side, to face Richard. He avoided Richard’s eyes; they would be too overwhelming. He reached out and placed his hand over Richard’s clothed chest. 

Severin watched his face, anticipating the rush of encompassing comfort he’d receive, just as Severin had. Instead, Richard cried out. His lips parted, eyes squeezed shut as if in pain. He cringed back, trying to make himself even smaller. 

Severin snapped his hand away as if Richard had burned him. No, worse than that – as if he’d burned Richard. 

He was about to say, “I’m sorry,” but Richard was already saying, “It’s okay.” He snuggled closer to Severin and put his hand on Severin’s chest. The rushing, soothing energy flooded through him again, although it no longer came as a shock. 

He breathed through it. It was as if his allotment of wretchedness and embarrassment was dwindling, and pouring in its place was Richard’s warmth and compassion. 

  


They remained that way for hours. After a while, when the sensation became less overpowering, Severin was able to register that Richard was wearing one of Severin’s T-shirts. It fit him more like a nightie, falling down to his knees and swimming on him. 

This was reassuring: It meant something when an omega wore an alpha’s clothes. Meant the omega wanted to be surrounded by that alpha’s scent, because the alpha comforted them. It was hard to smell the difference between a mated omega and an omega wearing their boyfriend’s sweater; right now, a stranger would probably guess that Richard and Severin were mates. 

Of course, Severin didn’t need to be told this was how Richard viewed him. He could _feel_ it. Beneath the duvet, it was as if all of their emotions flowed freely between them, even the spare thought or two. It was like telepathy; they didn’t have to exchange a word. 

Richard was chuckling. 

“What’s funny?” Severin asked, and it was only then that he realized he was chuckling, too. 

“This is amazing,” Richard whispered. “It’s like telepathy.” 

  


Severin fell in and out of consciousness, waking up to Richard’s hands on him, working their magic on his scalp, his sore muscles. He felt limp and content, utterly at home. The duvet ensured that their mingling scents built up between them, so that he could smell Richard more easily than ever. Richard apparently liked the effect, or maybe he liked the way Severin scratched him under the chin, because their tiny space was filled with the sound of his purring, his chest pressed against Severin’s, so that Severin could feel the vibrations of it. 

  


“Richard,” he said. It was nightfall by now. 

“Severin,” Richard said. Ooh, fuck, he’d forgotten how delicious that voice was, saying his name like that. 

It took Severin a moment to recompose himself. Then he said, carefully: “I don’t have much experience with omegas. The government never exactly gave me a Mating 101 class. But you know a lot of mated couples, right?” 

“Of course,” Richard said. 

“Is it…is it possible that we’re…” Severin felt stupid saying it. Yet he could feel Richard’s patient anticipation like it was tangible, like it stemmed from Severin as much as Richard. “That we’re bonded,” he finished in a whisper. “Soul-bonded.” 

“Not possible,” Richard said. His face turned red. “I mean, um, we’ve never…” 

“I know,” Severin said quickly, to save Richard from embarrassment. There’d been no heat, no fucking, no knotting. “I just…” 

Feel bizarrely close to you. 

“Me too,” Richard whispered. He kissed Severin’s throat. 


	6. Fight

Richie’s heart was racing. Blood pumped through him, legs spread, head hung back. Camera lights flashed like white explosions from behind his eyelids, but he didn’t care. Nothing mattered, except… 

“Oh…” He didn’t think Severin could hear his breathing, moaning, above the sound of the music. Didn’t matter. 

Severin’s fingers were stroking his neck, sending his body into a frenzy. They were in the middle of a club, all eyes on them, and Richie had never been an exhibitionist before – far from it – but Severin’s hands felt so, so… 

“Mm…” 

Severin had never touched him like this before. Cuddles, ear and chin scratches, tickling, massages – certainly. But sending his neck into heat-mode like this was new. And Richie liked it very, very much. 

“Richard?” Severin’s voice sent shivers through him. Richie was glad he was so small; his legs were spread open and he was pressing hard against his pants, but even then no one was able to tell. 

Ooh, he wanted to _get it_ when Severin took him home. 

Richie’s eyes fluttered open; he was too incoherent to say anything. Severin saw his frazzled state and chuckled. His index finger drew a delicious, feather-light line from Richie’s chin to his collarbone. His skin seared hot where the ghost of Severin’s touch lingered. 

“You were so grumpy moments ago,” Severin said, laughing. “Something change?” 

He teased Richie’s neck, his entire hand wrapped around it possessively. Richie was marked, Richie was his. Not mated, but still claimed for all the world to see. This would be their second time being spotted in public. It was practically official. 

“Take me home,” Richie panted, doing his best not to reach out and touch Severin. Every thought of being ‘only friends’ with the alpha was gone; he just wanted to touch, feel, taste the perspiration on Severin’s skin… 

“I thought you wanted to dance,” Severin said. 

Oh, yes, that. Richie supposed he had been grumpy. Severin had said he didn’t know how to dance, didn’t care to. And what fun was that? But this was plenty fun, this was better than dancing. 

“Home,” Richie breathed again. 

“Alright, then,” Severin said. “Up you get.” 

He stood, releasing his light hold on Richie’s neck, leaving Richie disoriented, bleary. He reached out a hand and Richie took it, let himself be hauled up. Let himself be guided to the car. 

  


Richie squirmed in the passenger’s seat, tried to keep his purr under control. He was afraid that if he came on too strongly Severin would stop the whole thing, just as he had last time. He’d riled Richie up so nonchalantly in the club. Maybe this was key: As long as they could pretend that what they were doing wasn’t a big deal, it wouldn’t be. Richie had to keep cool. 

He was smiling the whole car ride, ear-to-ear, imagining the car stopping, Severin getting out, helping Richie out – no, pulling him out, arms wrapped around Richie’s middle, throwing Richie over his back, stomping up the stairs, through the living room, bedroom, tossing Richie down on the bed. How would he touch Richie? An alpha would be too big for Richie now, as he wasn’t in heat, but there were so many other possibilities… 

The car stopped. Richie swung open the door, forgetting to appear casual. He scrambled, almost getting caught by his seatbelt, but managed to make it onto the street in record time. 

“Whoa, Richard,” Severin said. He was still in the driver’s seat. 

“Huh?” Richie said. 

“You aren’t going to say good night to me?” Severin asked. 

Richie frowned. Looked around. Saw: Jimmy’s apartment. 

Severin had driven him home. Home-home. The wrong home. Not Severin’s bed. 

In the car, Severin was looking at him as calmly as ever. As if daring him to complain about it. 

His first reaction was one of literal pain, like that of an orgasm cut off. The disappointment coiled in his chest; his heart felt like it was bursting, threatening to come out as tears. Severin wasn’t supposed to do things like this. This was such a – such an alpha move, teasing Richie like that, right in public, making him surrender his dignity, making him promises, only to say, later, _You’re not going to get what you want. I give you what I want to give you, when I want to give you it._

It was domineering, and not in the good way. 

“Richard?” It was like he was sounding extra calm just to stir Richie up even more, like he was trying to get Richie to cry in front of him. 

Richie wouldn’t – couldn’t. He’d already been humiliated enough for one night, thank you very much. 

“Good night,” Richie said flatly. He closed the car door and hurried across the street. 

Well - there. No good night cheek kiss for you, A. Severin. Mean, controlling, awful A. Severin. Nasty, hardened, cruel… 

When Richie closed the front door behind him, he felt some tears fall. He stood against the wall, holding himself, crying silently, for a few minutes. When he calmed down, he wiped his eyes dry and showered. 

By the time he crawled between Jimmy and Seb in bed he seemed perfectly cheery. No questions were asked. 

* * * * 

Silence. On the verge. The second before the grenade goes off: absolutely still. That caught breath, that moment of thoughtlessness, of whirring thoughts, the inability to accept what was happening, about to happen – the Parisian sky could not be drizzling if an incendiary was truly imminent, if this was really going to happen, with you, standing close, and your commander, and seventeen other British men – 

Boom. 

Wait, no. Silence. 

Dream. 

Severin was awake. The explosion wasn’t going to come. It had already come, a month and a half ago, would keep coming, over and over and over again in his head. 

It hadn’t been coming, before. It had stopped. It’d been impossible to think of what had happened on Mainland Europe when Richard had been wrapped in his arms, so content to be there. When Richard let him rest his nose against Richard’s hair, breathe him in the whole night, all of his dreams concerned only the here and now. Richard’s scent stopped wars, stopped the battle of his mind. 

No use having a cure, though, when that cure could run off without any explanation, not even a good night kiss, and be missing for a week. 

Severin pulled his afghan above his chin, pressing his face against it. Inhaled. Even as it calmed him it infuriated him. Moody omega. Richard had been so upset when Severin wouldn’t dance with him. Didn’t want to hear about how the club made Severin antsy – the moments of silence, especially, between the blasts of the bass, those semi-second glimpses of stillness, just like the moments before a grenade goes off. Richard couldn’t imagine that kind of barely-kept-off panic. 

Severin hadn’t told him about it, of course. Richard wouldn’t want an alpha to talk about how he _felt._ Richard didn’t want to hear about how Severin wanted to spend quiet time with him alone. Alphas didn’t want _quiet._

And if Richard wanted to drag him to some uppity club, he would go. But Richard needed to be accommodating. 

It was cruel – childish and spoiled – of Richard to leave him like this, just because he didn’t do one thing that Richard wanted. He wouldn’t dance, so he was abandoned for a whole week? Did Richard understand what kind of effect that had on him? Of course, he must. 

It wasn’t supposed to be this way, but Severin felt powerless compared to Richard. 

The doorbell rang. 

Severin jolted up, looked at his clock. 2:08 A.M. 

Probably Sebastian, then. The secret hope was lurking, that it could be… 

But it wouldn’t be… 

The door swung open and there, in the dark, was Richard. He wore a wobbly smile and held between his two hands a bouquet of what looked like yellow weeds. 

“Were you sleeping?” he asked sweetly. 

Every muscle in Severin’s body loosened. His built-up, week-old anger vanished. He stepped aside to let Richard come in. 

“No,” he said. “You alright?” 

“Uh-huh. I picked you flowers.” Richard held them up hopefully. 

Severin took them, smiling. “You picked them in the dark?” 

“Yep. I wanted to come see you,” Richard said. “I couldn’t before. I was working.” 

Oh. Work. 

He hadn’t been angry, then. Hadn’t been punishing Severin. Only working. 

Who felt childish now? 

“Thank you, Richard,” Severin said. He was about to go find a vase when Richard made a sudden noise in his throat and leapt forward, swinging his arms open. He caught Severin around the middle, even though, cutely, his hands couldn’t quite meet each other across Severin’s back. 

He snuggled his face into Severin’s bare chest. 

“I missed you so much,” Richard whispered. 

“It was only a week, Richard,” Severin said lightly, laughing. But he hugged Richard tightly. 

Afterwards, they went to Severin’s bedroom and Severin crawled into bed. He watched Richard’s silhouette in apt attention as Richard stripped off all but his briefs. His skin was so light that it shone, slightly, in the dark. Then he padded over to the bed. 

When Richard got onto the bed, the mattress barely sank beneath his light weight. Severin was constantly fascinated by the sheer _smallness_ of Richard, of how big he himself must seem, in Richard’s eyes. Severin held his arms open for him. 

Richard snuggled in closer, nuzzling Severin. His skin was cold. 

Severin felt light, a hushed elation. He had expected hours of nightmares mixed with insomnia and yearning for Richard, only to have the little omega in his bed earlier than he’d thought possible. 

Richard said, “How was your day?” 

Severin’s day had consisted of nothing but thinking about Richard, getting angry over the newspaper (British refusing to compensate Belgium for recent damages incurred during their brief occupation of Brussels), and trying to resist the bodily urge to do the same army drills he’d been doing for twenty years – and failing. 

He ignored the question and said, “How was yours? New work, you said. What kind?” 

“Can’t tell you,” Richard said, voice light and teasing. “Signed a confidentiality form.” 

“Oh la la,” Severin said. Then stiffened. It was something he’d picked up on a base in Paris, but good British alphas weren’t supposed to bring anything French back to the British Isles. Richard didn’t comment, however; probably he had never heard it before. Severin quickly added, “I’ll see it when it’s published, though?” Another book on the way. 

“Mm,” Richard hummed. His pressed his cold nose against Severin’s skin and breathed in. Severin closed his eyes, smiling, hand rubbing Richard’s neck. 

He drifted off to sleep. 

  


Severin woke up to the feel of two delicate hands pressing lightly on his left forearm. 

He let Richard struggle for a bit, sleepily amused by the effort he had to put into budging just one of Severin’s arms. 

“Trying to move, kitty-cat?” he asked. 

Richard pushed with all his strength, it seemed. To be nice, Severin lifted his arm. Richard readjusted, sighing happily as he got his position just so, head resting on Severin’s bicep. Severin closed his eyes again, planning to lapse back into sleep, thinking all was right with the world once more. 

Then Richard said, “Severin?” 

“Hm?” 

“Hold me.” 

Severin realized that, now that Richard had moved, he wanted Severin’s left arm tight around him again. Severin complied and, finally, all was truly right. 

  


Except for when he woke up an hour later. Richard must have crawled beneath his arm, somehow, freeing himself. When Severin returned to consciousness, Richard was crawling over him. He pressed himself against Severin’s opposite side, nose pressing into his back. And sighed. 

Severin went back – 

  


_\- boom._

It was the sound in his head, but not on the Parisian streets. He kept waiting for it to explode. A clumsy Molotov cocktail, good for burns, for broken glass like flying knives, thrown by one of the angry civilians. He waited, breath drawn. Tick...tick...tick... 

The commander looked back at Severin, their eyes met. Too much time had passed. A collective relief. 

Of course a civilian with a makeshift weapon wouldn't be effective against the British army. The men started to move around him, safe to continue to march their way through the entrance of the Louvre. They were in the clear. 

Ironically, he never heard the explosion. Couldn’t remember hearing it, at least. Heard a kind of weird tearing, the stitches of fate ripped. 

Severin flew back from the shockwave. Not a Molotov cocktail, but an explosive. Zinging in his ears. Dust and debris, lungs, pain. Coughing – other men, coughing. From miles away, the distinct, noble sound of a siren, _whirr-woooo, whirr-wooo,_ but it wasn’t for them, not for this kind of chaos. 

A hand on his shoulder, shaking. His eyes and mouth burned, he needed to stagger out, get into clean air. The hand wouldn’t stop. It was slowing him down, keeping him in the line of danger. He couldn’t see, couldn’t hear – 

“Severin? Severin?” 

Let go of him, he’s trapped. Couldn’t this idiot see? He wasn’t strong enough to bear a hand on his back. 

“Severin, please. Wake up. Please, Severin…” 

A mouth on his skin. Richard. Darkness in the room – 

\- clogged air, choking him. Where was his commander? Who was there to give orders? Maybe orders were being shouted right now, but he couldn’t fucking hear – 

A panting in his ear, wet and hot. 

“Help me, Severin.” 

How could anyone expect him to help them when he couldn’t bloody see? If they would fucking let go of him, he could – 

Richard. Richard was touching him. 

Fuck. He was semi-conscious, half-stuck in his dream, his memory. If Richard could stop talking for one second, could give him some free space to recompose himself, he could help with whatever – 

\- but Richard’s mouth was working its way across Severin’s skin, his pecs, his chest, not stopping. Severin reached out, pushed him off. 

“What do you want?” he spoke out, voice rough with imaginary debris. His chest was sore from Richard’s mouth – no, his lungs, sore from the memory of dust. 

He reached out for Richard’s face, hoping to stop his annoying squirms. 

“You’re hot,” he said, pulling back. “Are you feverish, Richard?” 

“Mm…” Richard moaned. “Uh-uh.” 

Suddenly, Richard grabbed him, thin arms strung around his neck. Severin instinctively leapt away – still stuck in a sightless cloud, surrounded by fellow troops, by shadowy enemies, waiting to be grabbed just like this. 

“I’m in heat,” Richard said, almost panted. His skin felt fiery. Incendiary. “Please. Please, I’m in heat…” 

“You’re not,” Severin said. There was nothing off about Richard’s scent, not even close. 

Richard’s grip around his neck tightened. 

“Am, I am, I _am,”_ Richard said. “Help me, please. You never help me.” 

“What’s this?” 

Richard leaned forward, his soft, omegic – angelic – voice whispering into Severin’s ear: “Bite my neck.” 

Severin growled. Spoiled omega, making demands. Was he going to pout when Severin said no? Go home and leave Severin alone with his bad dreams? 

Severin pulled away, forcing Richard’s grasp to break. He turned on the bedside light. 

“Stop it, Richard,” he said. “You already told me not to do that, and – ” 

“No, no, _please,”_ Richard begged. He was panting, head back on his pillow. He’d thrown the blankets off himself. Severin had to look away from his body, the way his chest rose and fell with shallow breaths. But that meant looking up into Richard’s eyes, which beckoned him, made him feel a lapse of willpower… 

He reached out, hand covering Richard’s eyes. 

“Oh! No, Severin, don’t – ” Hand over Richard’s mouth, blocking out that cute omegic voice that made Severin want to do whatever it asked. 

“Stop moving,” Severin ordered. “You’re acting like a child right now, Richard. Or should I call you Richie? You don’t get to pout and beg like the little omega that you are, only to have me do what you want, and then – then what? Get angry at me, because we’re mated? Or do I not bite you, and you get angry at me because we’re _not_ mated? I said stop moving! You’re not getting bitten. If you’re horny then go back to your brother’s. I’m going back to sleep.” 

With that said, he released Richard. He wanted Richard to apologize. To hug him, kiss his cheeks until the bad dreams entirely dissolved. He wanted Richard to be sorry for his impossible demands, to appreciate how much willpower Severin exerted on his behalf. He wanted Richard to understand. 

As soon as his hands were off Richard, Richard scrambled off the bed. Kept running – actually running, as if there were some need to rush – out of the bedroom. 

“Richard! Where are you - ?” 

A door slammed. The front door. 

Severin was too exhausted to get up and chase after him. That was what the omega wanted, after all. More attention. 

Severin couldn’t give it to him. 

He sighed and turned off the light. 

So much for living the post-army paradise. 

  


Richie kept running. 

He’d left his bag by the front door when he had come in, for which he was grateful. Besides Severin’s jacket, it was all he’d grabbed before he left. He wrapped himself up in the jacket; it was so long that only the leg beneath his knees went bare. He pulled his phone from his bag and dialed. 

Seb picked up on the third ring, voice exactly like Severin’s, but so much lighter, saner, less dangerous. 

“Richie?” he said. 

“Seb,” Richie said. “Can you pick me up? Please. I…I was with your brother. He scared me. I think he was going to hurt me. Please don’t tell Jimmy. Please.” 

There was a pause. Then: “Tell me where you are.” 

* * * * 

He awoke to his alarm. Eyes shot open; no adjustment to consciousness. Simply – awake. Then, the realization. He was alone.

It felt eerily resolute and final, as if Richard had been blown up on the streets of Paris, as if he’d been a figment of a dream. As if he wasn’t coming back. 

* * * *

Severin's car was ridiculous. In France, all of the cars were small things, some built with slightly higher roofs to accommodate the height of alpha drivers. Energy efficient and practical. Severin approved. 

In England, the size of alphas’ cars were proportionate to the size of betas’ and omegas’ cars. That is to say, an alpha’s car was bigger than a beta’s and a lot bigger than an omega’s. It advertised to the world, _I’m wealthy, I’m powerful, I’m alphic._

Severin never would have gotten it if Richard hadn’t picked it out. Bright red, too, so that it gleamed on the streets, catching everyone’s attention. Now that Richard wasn’t in the passenger seat, so pleased to be cruising in his big, red car with his big, military alpha, Severin was tempted to park it and take the metro. Or crash it into a building, and take the metro. 

He resisted until he got to the nurse’s office. 

Severin was sourer than usual, because he now knew how sweet it was to come home from the nurse’s and spend hours in bed with his favorite person. And it was terrible to know that today, like last week, he’d be coming back to an empty flat. 

* * * * 

He was stuck in the waiting room for forty-five minutes. The procedure went as it’d went for the last twenty years – humiliatingly. Then, afterwards, when he had tucked himself away and was prepared to go home, the nurse said to him, "Dr. Tanaka would like to see you now. She’s two doors down the hall, on the left.” 

“I didn’t make a doctor’s appointment,” Severin said, eager to leave. The nurse smiled. 

“Yes, but Dr. Tanaka would just like a check-up,” he said. 

“I had a check-up a month ago,” Severin said. 

“Never hurts to get another one.” The omega shrugged. “Have a good day, Mr. Moran.” 

There. 

Just now, _that._ The nurse’s eyes widened just the slightest bit, and he raised his head to make eye contact with Severin. They did, for a second, and Severin smiled. 

“Of course,” he said, suddenly at ease. “Thank you.” 

As soon as he turned away from the omega, he clenched his fist. 

He hated that. That omegas could have so much power. That little Richard, who’d spent his whole life getting alphas to drive him around London in shiny, red cars, should be dictating his emotional world right now. 

He stalked into the doctor’s room and sat on the exam table. He remained fuming for some time before the doctor came in. 

The doctor was a beta. Long hair tied back in a ponytail that hung past her shoulders. Tall, for a beta, but definitely not an alpha. She closed the door behind her and regarded Severin, eyes on him for too long to be socially acceptable. 

“Mr. Moran,” she said in greeting. Her voice was nearly emotionless. Stern, he’d say, but that wasn’t an emotion. 

“Dr. Tanaka,” he said. “For the sake of not wasting your time, I should probably tell you that I had a check-up a month ago.” 

“Obviously,” Dr. Tanaka said, walking farther into the room. She pulled up the sleeves of her white lab coat. “We have every soldier in London undergo physical and psychological check-ups immediately upon their arrival. And your records say, Mr. Moran, that at the time of your arrival, you were just fine. Physically, some issues. But psychologically nothing was amiss.” 

She held her hands behind her back. Her posture was soldier-perfect. She did not reach for her otoscope, her stethoscope, her blood pressure meter. Dr. Tanaka stood straight in front of him, regarding him with cool, black eyes. 

“That’s…good to hear,” he said. “I assume I would have been notified if there had been issues.” 

“Yes.” She put on a smile, and that’s what it seemed like – _like she was putting it on._ Unnatural. It didn’t fit her face. “There were no issues at the time, but since that has changed, you’re being notified.” 

“There’s an issue?” he asked. He felt fine. 

“Well, I shouldn’t get ahead of myself.” That terrible, false smile again. “It’s not an problem. Yet. This appointment is strictly…preventative. I want only to ask you a few questions.” 

“Go right ahead,” Severin said. 

“One hundred and eighty-three soldiers returned to the British Isles on the same day as you. In the past month, one hundred and sixty-five have come to their local city halls to register as mated. You are the only unmated alpha out of the batch.” 

“Eighteen.” 

“Sorry?” 

“You said one hundred and eighty-three came back. So eighteen of us are still unmated,” Severin said. 

“The other seventeen committed suicide.” Dr. Tanaka blinked. “Are you planning to kill yourself, Mr. Moran?” 

Severin had a sudden chill. He wasn’t, and he was glad he wasn’t – not only because suicidal ideation wasn’t a problem he was eager to add to his growing list, but because Dr. Tanaka’s unsympathetic stare made him want to move away from the topic as quickly as possible. He couldn’t imagine lying to this woman, and yet he couldn’t imagine how exposed and vulnerable he’d feel if he had to say ‘yes.’ 

“No,” he said. 

“Very well. In that case, let’s return to the matter at hand. Are you aware, Mr. Moran, what percentage of the population is comprised of omegas?” 

“Omegas?” Severin said. “Twenty percent, of course.” 

“That’s right. And the percentage of alphas?” 

“Twenty percent,” Severin said. These were numbers taught in primary school. 

Dr. Tanaka laughed as if Severin had said something cute. 

“Come on, now. I’m sure you’re brighter than you look. Or perhaps you’re not, seeing as you’ve drawn attention to yourself like this. We’ve been at war for the last quarter of a century. Nearly every presented alpha has been shipped off to France. Do you really think our perfect numbers – twenty-twenty-sixty, omega-alpha-beta – are still holding up? You alphas are dropping like flies, Mr. Moran. And in the meantime, thousands of omegas are forced to go without mates. Isn’t that very sad, Mr. Moran?” Her voice became mockingly tragic. “Imagine all of those poor omegas, alone in the world. Some of them forced to go to brothels for solace, when they should be starting families. Wouldn’t you like to help one of those poor omegas?” 

“Of course I do,” Severin said calmly. “I just want to make sure I’ve found the right one, that’s all.” 

He considered mentioning Richard – that the only omega he cared for was one who didn’t care for a family. But with Richard so determined to stay unmated, it seemed wrong to mention his name in a government-owned building. 

“Don’t worry about that,” Dr. Tanaka said harshly. “You’re not like a beta, you don’t need some kind of emotional connection. Just perform a body bond with the next in-heat, unmated omega you see. It doesn’t matter who they are. Any omega would be thrilled to have you.” 

“What if someone wanted a soul bond?” Severin asked. He felt stupid for saying it, but there it was. 

Dr. Tanaka gave a harsh bark of laughter. “Quite the romantic, aren’t you? I bet the omegas love that. So rare, in a military alpha.” She frowned. “Give it up, though. It’s dangerous to look for a soul bond. They’re too rare, too unpredictable. Do you know what percentage of omegas and alphas form soul bonds?” 

“Five percent?” Severin guessed, thinking this was a fair underestimation. 

“Less than .0001 percent. There are currently around eight million registered alpha-omega couples in the country, and less than a thousand of them have soul bonds. I wouldn’t keep your hopes up, Mr. Moran.” 

“Ah.” He hadn’t known that, and felt doubly stupid for asking. And yet, thinking of Richard, of the little omega saying, _This feels like telepathy,_ he said, “And a soul bond forms…how?” 

“The same way a body bond is made. An omega goes in heat, the alpha and omega copulate, reach simultaneous climax, and the alpha delivers the bite. Sometimes the soul bond happens, but usually it doesn’t.” 

“And it can’t happen unless the couple’s mated?” Severin asked. 

Dr. Tanaka raised her thin eyebrows. “Of course not. What makes you so curious, Mr. Moran?” 

“No one’s ever explained it to me,” Severin said. 

“Did you ask so many questions in the army, I wonder?” Dr. Tanaka asked. 

“No,” Severin said. Then, as if she’d conjured up the habit: “No, ma’am.” 

“Good alpha.” Christ, he hated when betas got condescending like that. She was looking at him like he was some kind of well-tamed beast. “Now. You realize soul bonds are incredibly rare, yes?” 

“Yes, doctor,” Severin said. 

“So you’re not going to waste any more time looking for one?” 

“No, doctor.” 

“Excellent. Get mated fast. By tonight.” Severin frowned. “Why not? You’re handsome. I’m a beta, and even I can tell. There’s nothing stopping you. Find an omega in a bar. At the airport. Tell them you’ve just arrived in London. They’ll get suspicious if they know you’ve been back a whole month. Or nervous. Omegas do get so nervous. Try to keep them calm.” 

“Of course,” Severin said. He was picturing little Richard, the way he’d always pull at his sleeves, fiddle with his hands. So cute when he was anxious. 

“And once you’ve mated, come straight here to get yourself registered. Think you can do that?” 

Dr. Tanaka’s voice was so authoritative that Severin felt obliged to listen to her – as if he could delude himself, at least in this office, into believing he’d actually go to the airport once he left here, instead of returning to his flat to think about how much he missed Richard. 

“Yes, Dr. Tanaka,” Severin said. 

“That’s what I like to here. I expect to see you again in a week or less, mated and ready to go.” 

She pulled her sleeves back down and stepped back, signifying the end of the appointment. She added only, before she left, “The faster you’re mated, Mr. Moran, the faster you’ll be having children. Little alphas, we can all hope. And the more alphas you produce, the better you will have performed your duty. And that’s what alphas live for, right? Make Great Britain proud, Mr. Moran.” 

She left. 

She had delivered it like it was her final playing card, no doubt the words that got those last, rare, doubting alphas on to the family-planning wagon. Yet it left Severin cold and empty. 

Then that emptiness filled with anger. 

Duty? Duty was supposed to be behind him now, they’d promised. Duty was the army. Mating was supposed to be his reward. 

But it all came down to what the Queen wanted, didn’t it? The Queen wanted soldiers, so he had to become one. The Queen wanted more soldiers, so he had to make some. 

What he wanted – a soul bond, _Richard_ \- never seemed to factor into it. 

  


When he walked out to the parking lot and saw his car, its hood gleaming beneath the sun, its absurdity was more blaring than ever. It wasn't the vehicle of a duty-driven alpha; it was the sort of toy owned by an undisciplined hedonist. In other words, an omega. 

His car was nothing more than ruffled up peacock feathers, a lollipop left out to tempt some money-hungry omega. 

Severin didn’t want some spoiled, young thing in his passenger seat. He didn't want someone who cared more about driving the nicest car than ending Britain's draft. Hell, he’d rather have a beta than a vapid omega. Rather find some alpha just as angry as him, and move in together, destroy each other, fuck shit up. 

Earlier, he’d fantasized about crashing the car. 

On the way home, he did. 

Into a brick wall at the end of a one-way alley. It took too long to find, zapped the daring out of it, the energy, but when the car slammed into solid brick, sending Severin lurching forward as he heard the crunching of metal, the shattering of glass, it was worth it. 

And Severin walked out of that wreckage unscratched. 

Because he was an alpha, and invincible. 


	7. Rowboat

Severin left his car as it was and walked to Hyde Park. Back in Paris, in the moments between waiting to die or kill people, he’d sometimes go to the Bois de Vincennes. No one else went with him; the British weren’t in the eastern part of Paris so much, so when he went he was surrounded by the French. He wouldn’t wear his uniform, wouldn’t draw attention to himself. On the edge of the park’s great lake was a _petite bibliothèque,_ a metal bookcase full of paperbacks set out for the loungers. 

It was there, in a rowboat on the lake, drifting aimlessly, that he’d learned to read French. He’d bask beneath the rare Parisian sun, or more often beneath Parisian clouds, and submerge himself in the books of Honoré de Balzac. He’d read Balzac’s entire magnum opus, _La Comédie Omegique et Alphique._ It was a thorough, literary exploration of every kind of relationship between omegas and alphas imaginable. The British had barely taught Severin the basics of his own biology, but it was on the French lake that Severin learned the intricacies of love. 

If anyone had caught him, he would have been charged with treason and executed. 

At the time it’d seemed worth the risk. Waiting for his next chance to be released from the base, and slip off to the Bois de Vincennes, kept him sane. 

Now he realized it’d all been a waste of time. He’d only been entangling with omegas for six weeks and already it was obvious that Balzac’s stories had taught him nothing. 

So he didn’t know why he was in Hyde Park. For the fresh air, probably. He could go for a run. The place didn’t even look like the Bois de Vincennes – it was just patches of fucking grass, no delicate ivy strung up on trees, no pond bordered with fine-leaved willows to row beneath. The Serpentine was just a fucking shapeless river. 

Not that he was – holy Christ – craving French aesthetics on British soil. Not that he gave a shit. 

He sat by the edge of the river and looked out at the rowboats. Families and couples were in them, laughing and rowing together. So untouched by the war. In the Bois de Vincennes, everything had had a hushed quality – keep still, lest the British hear you. Here, though, everyone was as boisterous as they wanted to be. 

“Oy.” He felt a sharp blow to the back of his head. 

He launched up, turned around and grabbed the arm of his attacker. Twisted – 

“Oy! A. Severin!” 

Severin paused, looked. 

He let go of the blonde, alphic woman before him, but had to stare for a few seconds before her face was matched up with a name. 

“Inge,” he said. “Richard’s director?” 

Inge raised her eyebrows. “O. Richie’s, yeah.” She glanced around. “Is he here with you?” 

“No,” he said. There must have been more bitterness in his voice than he thought, because she looked suddenly concerned. But all she did was step aside, revealing a small, pretty omega who had been taking cover behind her. 

“This is my mate,” she said. “O. Tani.” 

“It’s nice to meet you.” Severin put out his hand. “And Tani is short for…?” 

The omega didn’t take his hand – most newly-mated omegas wouldn’t touch other alphas. She avoided his gaze and said, “Tanisha. But maybe just call me Tani, please.” 

Severin held his tongue. 

“We were going to row,” Inge said. “All the boats are three seaters. Care to join?” 

Severin paused, scrambling for some excuse to turn her down. He didn’t exactly want to spend his afternoon with a draft-evading, propagandist director and her shy mate. But she said, “Come on. You’ll be mating with O. Richie soon, right? That makes us friends. And besides,” she winked, “I can tell you plenty about O. Richie. I’ve known him for years.” 

She put her hand around Tanisha’s shoulders and they walked off, not waiting to see if he would follow. 

But he did. 

* * * * 

It was little Tanisha who sat on the rower’s seat, her hands on the oars. Inge was positioned behind her, reaching forward to put her hands over Tanisha’s. It was Inge who was doing the rowing – Tanisha likely wasn’t strong enough – but their bodies moved in unison. 

“So. I’m curious,” Inge said. It was a sunny day; the wind, even over the water, was light. Severin leaned back, dipping his hand over the boat, letting it skim the cold water. “What is it about you that’s caught our O. Richie’s attention?” 

Severin shrugged. 

“Are you an artist?” she asked. 

He snorted. 

“A war hero?” 

He rolled his eyes. 

“Did you save his life?” 

He shook his head. 

“Come on.” She laughed. “There’s got to be something.” 

“No, there doesn’t,” he said stiffly. “Richard and I are through. He left my flat last night, so I doubt you’ll see me at one of those clubs again.” 

He shrugged and leaned back further, the very image of nonchalance. It was Tanisha who spoke up. 

“You’re hurt,” she said. “Maybe you should talk to him.” 

Severin sat up suddenly. 

“Of course I’m not,” he spat. “Don’t tell me what to do.” 

Tanisha blinked and leaned back into Inge’s arms. 

“Hey,” Inge growled. “Cool it. That’s not how you talk to my omega.” 

“Then maybe she shouldn’t be talking to me about something she doesn’t understand,” Severin said. 

“Oh? What makes you so sure? I thought you were Mr. Equality. Omegas and alphas and betas are all the same, blah blah. Ignore our A., O., B. prefixes and we’ll live in a perfect world!” Inge’s voice became sarcastically bright. 

Severin shot her a questioning look and she said, “Oh, I know what it is that caught O. Richie’s attention. All of your unorthodox, philosophical bullshit. He told me about it. He was so excited, but I warned him. And I was right. Undoubtedly he realizes you’re an insincere shit who didn’t mean any of it, so he’s left, right?” 

“No,” Severin growled. “That’s not why he left.” 

“Really. Then why did he?” 

“Because he wanted me to dance with him at that club the other night, and I wouldn’t,” Severin said. “And my ‘unorthodox philosophies’ aren’t bullshit, thanks.” 

For some reason, Inge leaned forward and nipped Tanisha on the ear before resuming the conversation. She said, “It’s not like O. Richie to be petty. He may seem that way, but he’s not. Could it be that you embarrassed him?” 

“Probably,” Severin said. “He likes to show me off well enough when we’re cruising around in that stupid car he picked out – when people can see he’s snatched this big, military alpha. But when I’m on the floor with all you artistic draft-evaders, I’m too coarse for him. An embarrassment, as you said.” 

“Oh, shut up,” Inge said. “You know that’s not what I meant.” 

“That’s exactly what you meant,” Severin said. 

Inge opened her mouth. Then closed it. Opened it again. Then – 

Tanisha said, “You don’t know, do you?” 

She quickly looked down again. Christ. Did all alphas treat their omegas like this? Like little pets that were supposed to be seen and not heard, never step out of line? It was sad and pathetic to watch. 

The earlier ear nip had probably been a reminder for Tanisha to stay in her place. 

“Ooh, I think you’re right, O. Tani, dear,” Inge said. Another ear nip. “Hm. Is it because you don’t know how to read, ‘big, military alpha?’” 

Severin’s lips drew back, teeth showing. “Of course I know how to read.” 

“But you don’t pay attention to the newspapers?” 

“What are you talking about?” 

Tanisha turned her head and whispered something into Inge’s ear. Inge took her hands off of Tanisha’s for a moment, and they stopped rowing. She reached down to the floor, where Tanisha’s satchel lay. 

“O. Tani’s got a newspaper in her bag,” Inge said. She pulled it out. Held open the front cover for Severin to see. 

“Just in case you can’t read,” Inge said, “the headline says – ” 

“‘Public Sex Scandal,’” Severin said faintly. In bold, black font, with an exclamation at the end. And below it was a picture of Severin and Richard from their other night at the club. Someone had snapped a photograph of the two of them on the couch. 

When he’d been sitting beside Richard, it’d been hard to tell, but from a front angle like this, it was obvious that Richard had been… Well… His legs were spread wide open, he head hung back, mouth opened lewdly. 

Holy fucking Christ. He’d been a spectacle. 

“I don’t understand,” Severin said. 

“Finally,” Inge said. “He admits it.” 

“It wasn’t scandalous. We weren’t having sex,” Severin objected. “We’ve never – ” 

“You were as good as. Touching his neck like that? What did you think you were doing? You were driving the poor guy crazy. It’s pretty obvious what you two must have done as soon as you left the club. Tell me: Did you make it out of your car? Did you even make it out of the _parking lot?”_

Severin gaped. “I was only cuddling with him. It wasn’t anything heated.” 

He looked again at the picture of Richard. Who did, in fact, look like he didn’t much want to make it out of the parking lot. Had Severin been so wrapped up in his own fucking war issues that he hadn’t noticed? 

“You were caressing his _neck,”_ Inge said. Tanisha squeaked, her cheeks turning red, apparent even despite her dark skin. “What did you think you were doing?” 

“I touch him all the time,” Severin objected. “It’s not a big deal.” 

“On his _neck?”_

“Sure? And his arms, his hands, his hair – ” 

Inge laughed. “Wow. Military alphas really are as dumb as they look.” 

Severin’s upper lip twitched. Tanisha glanced up at him. Her eyes were huge. 

“If you don’t know, A. Severin,” Tanisha said gently, “an omega’s neck is…” But she squeaked again and looked down. 

“One of the most sensitive erogenous zones on an omega’s body,” Inge finished for her. “Not exactly a place you go around rubbing in public.” 

“Poor O. Richie,” Tanisha whispered. “He was probably mortified when he saw this.” 

“He wouldn’t be,” Severin snapped. “He doesn’t give a shit about what the newspapers say.” 

Tanisha shrank down. 

“Well, regardless, it wasn’t a very nice thing to do,” Inge said. “Touching an omega like that is not only rude, but it takes away their power. Especially when you know that an omega’s already interested in you. It’ll be so overwhelming that they’ll scarcely be able to say no. Richard was certainly humiliated once he came back to his senses.” Inge asked, “Couldn’t you tell how hot and bothered he was? I’m sure something happened in that car.” She grinned while Tanisha continued to blush. 

“No,” Severin said. “I just dropped him off.” 

Inge blinked. “You dropped him off.” 

“Yes,” Severin said. 

“And just left him in that state?” 

“I didn’t realize there was a state,” Severin admitted. 

“Christ,” Inge said. “That poor thing. No wonder he left you.” 

“Fuck,” Severin muttered. “I’ve been a fucking idiot.” 

His self-insult seemed to soften Inge. She said, “Well, he obviously forgave you. He must have come back to you if he left you later, right? So he didn’t leave because of what happened at the club.” 

Severin was so stuck on the club, on how disastrously stupid he’d been, that it was difficult to think of what had happened afterwards. He couldn’t believe he’d thought Richard was so childish as to abandon him for a week just because he hadn’t wanted to dance. Severin had torn apart Richard’s dignity, single-handedly, in one night. And had never acknowledged it. 

Yet Richard had still come back. Right back into his bed, even brought him flowers… 

“His neck,” he said suddenly. “Oh, Christ. Before I went to sleep – we were in bed, a week later, and I was stroking his neck.” 

He’d meant it to be a soft, gentle gesture. Instead he had worked Richard up into a frenzied state, only to fall asleep and leave Richard cold and dry for the second time. No wonder Richard had been tossing and turning. 

“Well, there you have it,” Inge said. “All figured out.” 

Severin watched how Inge was moving. Her hands were light over Tanisha’s, not pressing too hard, but still managed to be firm enough to row the oars. Her body was positioned protectively around Tanisha, Tanisha pressed between her thighs, the back of Tanisha’s head against Inge’s chest. 

Inge leaned forward and nipped Tanisha’s ear again. Tanisha giggled. 

Severin was off his guard, apparently as much of a clueless oaf as everyone always said military alphas were. It was probably because of this uncertainty, then, that he reevaluated his previous hypothesis: if Tanisha was giggling, then it didn’t seem likely that Inge was nipping her ear to ‘keep her in her place.’ 

And, in fact, her very place in the boat was curious. 

“Tanisha,” Severin said. “Why are you in the rower’s seat? You’re not the one doing the rowing.” 

Tanisha ducked her head down. 

“Stop it, A. Severin,” Inge admonished. 

“What?” Severin said. 

“You’re frightening her,” Inge said, as if it were obvious. 

Severin blinked. Looked. Saw: Tanisha had barely spoken this entire conversation. Not because Inge didn’t want her to. On the contrary, Inge had placed Tanisha in the middle of the boat, so that she wouldn’t be hidden behind either of the alphas, and could be better included. Tanisha wasn’t talking because of Severin. 

The very idea that he could be frightening to an omega was strange and offensive. To a beta or an alpha – certainly. He’d killed betas and alphas for twenty years. But to hurt an omega was so unthinkable that he couldn’t imagine how anyone could fathom him doing such a thing. 

“I didn’t mean to frighten you, Tanisha,” Severin said, trying to make his voice gentle. 

“Would you just call her O. Tani? You sound ridiculous,” Inge scoffed. “She hasn’t been called Tanisha since she was twelve.” 

“But – ” 

“But omegas and alphas and betas are the same. Right. Whatever. That explains why you’ve shut O. Tani down every time she’s opened her mouth in this conversation. That explains why I can feel her shaking between me right now, she’s so scared of you.” Inge wrapped an arm around Tanisha, leaned down and whispered something into her ear. 

Severin didn’t say anything. He felt disarmed, right on the brink of anger. He probably would have had an outburst, threatened Inge and denied any responsibility, if Inge hadn’t said, right then, “It’s not your fault.” 

“What?” 

“That you don’t know these things,” Inge said. “That you’re a privileged bastard who spouts some radical, gender-defying bullshit to O. Richie but smears O. Richie’s reputation all over the front covers of the newspapers. It’s not your fault. Well, not entirely.” 

“Whose fault is it?” 

“The army. That’s the reason I never wanted to join.” 

Severin laughed coldly. 

“I’m serious,” Inge objected. “I’d rather make art – yes, I know what you think of my art. I don’t care. I’d rather make propaganda, direct plays promoting government-approved family values, than be an emotionally blunted fighting machine. You hate me because you think I got what you’ve always wanted. Freedom. But there is no freedom, here, A. Severin. There’s just killing for the government or spreading the government’s messages. I chose the best option. You weren’t so lucky.” 

Severin didn’t know what to say. He thought, for once, that maybe he shouldn’t say anything. Because Inge wasn’t done speaking. 

“Let me teach you a lesson,” Inge said. “Yes, I know you think you know so much more than me. You can teach me how to shoot a gun some other time. But right now we’re in a park, and I’m on a date with my omega, which we’ve very graciously invited you on. So look.” Inge looked downwards and Severin followed her gaze. “My hands are over O. Tani’s. And you’re right: O. Tani isn’t rowing. But…”

Subtly, Severin saw Tanisha’s left hand twitch beneath Inge’s. Inge rowed the left oar more strongly, causing the boat to turn so that they could make it around the upcoming bend. Tanisha smiled. 

“Tanisha’s guiding the boat,” Severin breathed. 

Inge nodded. 

Severin watched the two for some time, seeing how their bodies leaned back and forward in perfect unison, their breaths synchronized. Tani guided, Inge rowed. Harmony. 

Finally Inge broke the silence. 

“We’re not so different, any of us alphas. Military or not. I was raised, just like you, to think I needed to have power over omegas. When I first dated O. Tani, it’s because I wanted to control her. I thought I’d finally have the dictatorship I’d always dreamt of, that our school teachers told us all alphas deserve,” Inge said. 

“Then, after I mated with O. Tani, I realized: What’s the point?” She shrugged. “Why do I need to assert my power? I’m paid more money, society will always view me as the superior half of our relationship. And even if those things weren’t true, I’m still bigger than her. That’s no societal value, that’s just biology. I could kill her with one hand.”

As if the thought terrified her, Inge stopped speaking for a moment to layer kisses on the top of Tanisha’s head. Tanisha beamed and began to purr, which in turn made Inge beam. “I already had all the power. So what more could I want? Then I realized…” Tanisha’s right hand flickered, and Inge rowed the right oar. “There is more than that. There’s so much more than that. There’s this.” 

Tanisha leaned back, and Inge leaned back. Tanisha turned her head over her shoulder, her eyes wide, and Inge gazed willingly into them. 

Severin had been so pissed over omegas’ eyes lately. He hadn’t wanted them controlling him, especially Richard’s. But as he looked at Tanisha and Inge, he realized Inge was right. As an alpha, he already had all the power. Always would. He could kill any omega with one hand, as Inge said, and the best an omega could do was widen their eyes at him a bit. It was hardly a fair trade, and yet Severin had wanted omegas to have even less power than that. 

An omega’s eyes were their one source of power – not even of power, only persuasion, only a tool used to negotiate with the powerful. Severin had been thinking of their eyes as weapons, but they weren’t so insidious. An omega’s eyes were their first and last line of defense against a world full of people bigger and more highly-esteemed than them. 

So last night, when Severin had been yelling at Richard, of course Richard had widened his eyes. He’d been scared. 

And Severin had reached out and covered them up. 

“I love you, Inge,” Tanisha said softly, her voice daintily cute. Severin could tell Inge was falling deep into those words. 

When Richard, blinded by Severin’s hand, had tried to use his voice to free himself, Severin had silenced him. 

With two hands, Severin had stripped Richard of the only tools he had to survive in a world full of alphas. 

Of course he’d run away. Severin had thought Richard couldn’t imagine his own barely-held-off panic, but Richard could. Richard had felt full-blown panic himself. 

And it was Severin’s fault. 

Severin was silent for the rest of the row. Tanisha gradually became more talkative, first whispering into Inge’s ear, and then speaking aloud. By the end, as Inge was rowing the boat towards the edge of the river, Tanisha even said something to Severin: “I’m sure O. Richie misses you, A. Severin. But he… I mean… As an omega, I know that… I would maybe…want for the alpha to talk to me. First. Instead of, you know, waiting for me to talk to them.” 

Her eyes were wider than even and she looked ready to duck down if Severin snapped. 

Severin said, “You’re right. Thank you, Tanisha. I’ll consider it.” 

Inge got out of the boat first, reaching out a hand to help Tanisha. The two said their goodbyes to Severin. Severin said, “Thank you, Inge. And Tanisha. I think I understand him better than I did before.” 

“The only way to truly know is to talk to him,” Inge said. She regarded Severin for a moment. “You know, for a military alpha, you’re not too bad. You’re willing to learn a thing or two, which is more than just about any alpha out there. Think you have the time for one more lesson?” 

Severin smiled wryly. “Maybe.” 

“I think it’s shit that you call my omega ‘Tanisha,’” Inge said, wrapping her arm tightly around Tanisha. Tanisha clung to her. 

Severin opened his mouth to object, but Inge said, “Yeah, I know why you do it. Because you think your philosophies – of equality, ironically – matter more than what my omega asked you to call her before we got onto the boat.” 

“She didn’t insist,” Severin argued. “I just called her Tanisha, and she didn’t say a word.” 

Inge snorted. “But you realized that you scare her, right? Omegas aren’t the most outspoken lot, especially when they’re scared. So maybe try listening the first time they say something.” 

Severin stood there awkwardly, wondering if he could just walk away. He’d never been so uncomfortable before. 

“And also, A. Severin,” Tanisha said, her voice so quiet that Severin had to lean down to catch her words, “it’s not really very nice, um, to call everyone by the alpha equivalents of their names. Maybe when you do that, it implies you don’t think their omegic name is good enough. I don’t think everyone has to be an alpha to be worth talking to.” 

She hid her face against Inge’s coat before Severin could respond. Inge grinned at him, looking proud of her outspoken omega. In a quick movement, Inge hoisted Tani up, holding her in her arms, and walked away. 

Severin watched the two of them as they crossed the bridge, until they were out of sight. 


	8. Protest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to leave to go to an airport in 20 minutes and I'll be in Italy for two weeks. But I wanted to update before I left! So basically expect something typo-ridden and unedited and also it leaves off at a weird point because I simply ran out of time. 
> 
> But it's an update...?

“O. Richie, can we get a statement?” Before he could think of anything to say, a camera flashed in his face, and bodies shoved between him and the journalist, until she was thankfully out of sight. 

“O. Richie – do you support Dubois?” 

“O. Richie, why would an omega like you come to the country’s biggest protest in ten years? Do you think omegas need a voice in the current affair?” A recorder was shoved in front of his mouth, but he dodged it. 

Another one: “O. Richie, is it true you and Dubois were once more than friends?” 

“Ex – excuse me – oh! Ow...” It wasn’t that the beta journalist had meant to step on his foot, certainly not, it was only that nobody seemed able to realize how much Richie didn’t like their crowding in on him. This was a massive horde of alphas, betas, and omegas alike, but even amongst the omegas Richie was still the tiniest. 

“OUR ARTISTS ARE OUR COUNTRYMEN. OUR ARTISTS ARE OUR COUTNRYMEN. OUR…” The chant went on, growing only louder as the police narrowed in on the crowd. Richie wanted to join in, but instead had to focus on dodging all the – 

A beta’s elbow jutted into his head. He stumbled, and a helpful alpha pulled him to his feet. The beta glanced back, lip twitching, before rejoining the chant, fist in air. He wished betas wouldn’t look at him like that, like he was too tiny to be anything other than a nuisance. 

“Are you alright?” The alpha rested a reassuring hand on his shoulder. 

“Yes, thank – ” He recognized that accent. He looked up and saw…

No, but it couldn’t be. 

“Ooh. I – I – what are you doing here?!” He looked around frantically, certain that he couldn’t be the only one to recognize Baptiste Dubois. Sure, his golden, trademarked hair was covered by a baseball cap, and he wore a black mask – as many of the protesters did – but his slender, albeit alphic figure was sure to give him away. 

Dubois leaned down to whisper in Richie’s ear. Richie hadn’t seen him since Severin broke Dubois’s wrist at the club, but he found that his flirtatious tone and deliberate, hot breath against Richie’s ear didn’t send Richie’s heart fluttering as it once did. 

“Mais zis is ze safest place in all ze world to be, little Richie, don’t you see? Zey are scarcely going to arrest me when all of my supporters are surrounding me,” Dubois said. 

“OUR ARTISTS ARE OUR COUNTRYMEN.” 

Richie believed him: The faces in the crowd were so fierce they frightened him. None of them, or almost none, were social or political activists. There were fashionistas, models, photographers, and makeup artists, all fighting to keep England’s top – and only – French model in the country. They were crowding up the area in front of the Buckingham Palace. It was strange to think that the Queen lived inside there. Somewhere, behind one of those curtain-drawn windows, the Queen lurked unseen. Hearing all of this, surely. 

Richie felt Dubois stand back to his full height behind him. 

“Don’t leave me,” Richie said frantically, turning around and grabbing Dubois’s sleeve. He was certain that Dubois couldn’t hear him, probably couldn’t even feel his grip on his sleeve. “Please, I’m scared…”

Dubois continued distractedly: “Eh. It’s your friend, Richie. Ze… Ze alpha one, your mate, yes?” His attention was focused somewhere in the distance. Richie tried to see, but it was no use; too many tall people surrounded him. 

Dubois was stepping away, going somewhere in particular, still looking at what Richie couldn’t see. Richie clung to his sleeve, trying to follow, squeezing between bodies. Everything was so hot down here. He wished he was tall enough to just stand on his toes, just centimeters above the heads of the crowd, and get a bit of fresh air. 

Oh. 

“Severin!” 

It was due to Severin’s exaggerated height that Richie could see his blond head making its way through the crowd. He didn’t see Richie or Dubois; his eyes were serious. Richie felt a sudden tug. 

Richie wasn’t sure how he mustered the courage, but he let go of Dubois’s sleeve and managed to evade the crowd. He dashed between alphic legs and ducked under elbows, wriggled between bodies, until he found himself directly in front of Severin. 

He rushed into Severin’s arms. 

Without being asked, Severin lifted him automatically. Richie wrapped his arms around Severin’s neck, taking in a great gulp of his scent, and, as Severin supported him, wrapped his legs around Severin’s middle. 

“Richard,” Severin said. Hearing his deep, concerned voice say that special version of Richie’s name washed all the anxiety from Richie’s exhausted bones. “Are you alright? What are you doing here? What is this?” 

“I’m fine now,” Richie said. He clung to Severin tighter, although he knew Severin wouldn’t let go. 

In that moment, he wasn’t thinking of Severin’s angry, hardened voice from two nights before. Only of how, now that he was level with Severin, he could see over the crowd instead of being stomped by every careless beta with a protest sign. He felt like sticking his tongue out at them. 

“What are you doing here?” Severin repeated. He stopped scanning the boisterous crowd and looked Richie in the eyes. Richie immediately felt even calmer, a certain stability sinking through him. 

“They’re protesting Dubois’s deportation,” Richie said. “Baptiste Dubois, the model you met – ” 

“I know. I heard something about it. They arrested him, right? Visa issues?” Severin said. 

Richie shook his head. “They arrested him after receiving an anonymous tip, apparently. But his papers were in order.” 

Severin looked around. “Then they won’t be deporting him.” 

“Now they’re saying… They’re saying he did something else.” Richie looked away, a sour taste in his mouth. “And they want him out of the country. But I _know_ he didn’t do it. And so does everyone else here!” 

“Zat’s very kind of you, Richie.” Dubois drew near them. He looked at Severin. “I was only accompanying your omega because I feared he would uzherwise get crushed.” 

“It’s alright,” Severin said. “Thank you.” 

He didn’t deny that Richie was his omega. Richie’s heart leapt at that. 

Richie whispered in Severin’s ear, “Take me home. Please. I’m scared here.” 

Severin nodded curtly. He let Richie down. Richie clung to his legs, stepping on top of Severin’s boots, while Severin spoke to Dubois. They exchanged a few terse words, it seemed, but Richie couldn’t hear them above the crowd. Then Severin picked him up again, and they were leaving. 

“Do you think Dubois will be alright?” Richie asked. 

He saw Severin glance around. Possibly he saw the alphic woman who was pushing a police officer to the ground, or the group of young betas who were trying to make their way through the Buckingham Palace gates. 

“I think he’s got some people on his team,” Severin said simply. 

Severin set him down again once they reached the point where the crowd thinned. Richie looked around for Severin’s car but couldn’t see it. 

“Here,” Severin said. He guided Richie to a somber, black vehicle, parked in the middle of the blocked street. 

“Huh?” Richie said. 

“I got a new car. Didn’t like the one I’d rented. Come on, get in. I’ll need to drive backwards until we get to the end of the street,” Severin said. 

Severin helped him into the car. He didn’t seem remotely frightened of the crowd, like Richie was, but he acted quickly and thoroughly, determined to get out of there. He leaned over Richie and clicked Richie’s seatbelt into place before slamming the passenger door close and rushing over to the driver’s side. In no time, they had backed up and were on a clear street again. 

They were silent as Severin drove. Richie wondered if Severin was thinking about the other night. Richie fiddled with his seatbelt, looking down. 

“Have you eaten? We could stop for food,” Severin said. 

“No, thank you,” Richie said. 

“What are they accusing Dubois of?” Severin asked suddenly. When Richie paused, tongue-tied, Severin said, “The French crime?” 

That’s what they called it. The French crime. It chilled Richie, even though he knew… He knew French alphas probably weren’t so different from British alphas, and that a British alpha would never – 

“Let me guess. The government’s paid some nice, pretty omega to claim that Dubois forced himself on them? And now the government’s giving him the option of execution or deportation?” 

“I thought you didn’t read newspapers,” Richie said softly. 

“It’s a predictable story. That’s what they did to all the misbehaving lads in Eton, in the day. Not rape accusations, of course. But small things. ‘An omega claimed you groped him.’ Immediate expulsion. Which is good, of course, except that these types of claims were almost never true.” 

Richie had nothing to say. He picked at a string coming from his sleeve. 

“What are your thoughts, then, Richard?” 

Richie shrugged. He was holding back tears and didn’t want Severin to see the way his face was getting hot. 

Severin prompted further, “Guilty, or not guilty?” 

“Innocent,” Richie blurted. “I’m positive. Of course.” 

“Of course,” Severin repeated. “But the government still wants him out. Why?” 

Richie looked out the window. “O – oh.” 

“Hm?” 

The car pulled up to the curb. 

“We’re at your place,” Richie said, fighting the smile that tugged at his lips, despite the whole afternoon’s stress. 

Severin didn’t respond, only clicked off Richie’s seatbelt and left the car, coming around to open Richie’s door. 

“Are you nervous about Dubois?” Severin asked. 

Richie lowered his eyes, shrugging. “He’s my friend. But he didn’t do anything wrong. He’ll be alright.” 

When Richie looked up, his breath caught. Severin was gazing down at him intently, radiating utter calmness. Then he did something unexpectedly tender. 

He leaned down, slowly, cupping Richie’s cheek in his palm, and kissed Richie’s forehead. The kiss was soft and warm, and in less than a second Severin stood straight again, placed his hand on Richie’s back, and guided Richie to his flat. 

* * * * 

Richie waited on Severin’s couch while Severin made tea. Richie was fidgety, wanting to go into the kitchen and just stand next to Severin, breathe him in. Or stand on the other side of the kitchen, unnoticed, and watch an unaware Severin work in that competent, cool way of his. 

Severin eventually emerged with two steaming mugs. Richie took his gratefully. 

Severin took a seat on the couch, disappointingly on the other side of it, not touching Richie. 

“You don’t seem very angry with me,” Severin said, sipping his tea. “I didn’t think you’d want to be alone with me.” 

Richie was surprised Severin was bringing this up; he thought Severin would pretend nothing had ever happened, and they could go on as they had before, pretending to be oblivious. But of course Severin wouldn’t do that. He wasn’t a coward. 

Richie took a sip of tea, taking up time to think of a response. When he pulled the mug away he said, “I’m never angry. What happened to your pretty car?” 

Severin snorted. “I crashed it into a brick wall.” 

From the way he said it, it was obvious he’d done so intentionally. 

“Why?” Richie asked. 

“Because,” Severin said, “I missed you.” 

Richie’s cheeks grew warm. He set his mug on the coffee table. 

“It hasn’t even been two days,” he pointed out, although he felt flattered, heart bursting. 

“You ran out of my flat,” Severin said. “I scared you.” 

“But I came back,” Richie said. 

“I didn’t think you would,” Severin said. He, too, set his mug down, turning to face Richie. “I was sure you’d go running back to your brother, tell him how terrible alphas are. And you would have been justified, of course.” 

Richie lowered his eyes. He hadn’t said a word to Jimmy, and he’d made Sebastian promise he wouldn’t, too. “I was never mad. Only sorry,” Richie said. He blinked, rubbing at his eye. “I still don’t understand what I did wrong.” 

“Aw, Richard.” Severin leaned forward, as if to embrace Richie, but disappointingly he stopped himself. He sat straight again and said, “You didn’t do anything wrong. I just…I was having a nightmare when you woke me up.” To Richie’s surprise, Severin averted his gaze. Was he ashamed? “My anger had nothing to do with you. Just war wounds. Those aren’t your problem.” 

“Of course they are,” Richie said. “I’m sorry, Severin. I didn’t know.” 

Severin’s lips suddenly split into a grin. “Yes,” Severin said, voice turning cheeky. “There are some things I didn’t know, either. But I met one of your directors in the park yesterday. Inge. And O. Tani.” Richie was surprised to hear Severin use this name. “They let me know a thing or two about omegas…”

Severin chuckled, looking at Richie in a way that made his skin burn, from his cheeks to his neck. 

“W-what did they tell you?” he asked. 

“I feel very drawn to your neck, you know. I always want to touch it, bite it, lick it. Oh, look at you.” Severin chuckled again. “You’re turning red. So gorgeous, you are.”

When had they gotten so close? They’d both moved, somehow, from their separate ends of the couch to the middle, thighs touching. Severin towered over Richie, and when he reached out to stroke a cool finger down Richie’s hot cheek, Richie whimpered. 

“I had no idea,” Severin whispered, “why I loved your neck so much. I assumed because I could smell you best there, or because… Because that’s where a mating bite is given. But now I know.” 

Severin’s same finger stroked down to his chin, then retraced up to Richie’s ear, touching its outline. 

“I left you hanging quite a lot, didn’t I, Richard?” Severin asked. “I’m sorry for that, too. It won’t happen again.” 

Richie blinked, thinking he understood Severin’s implications. His heart pounded. 

Severin wasn’t going to leave him hanging…?

But Severin continued: “I won’t touch your neck again. Promise.” 

Richie exhaled. 

“I… I…” He closed his mouth, aware that he was gaping. 

“Richard? Are you alright?” Severin asked. 

“Please don’t leave me hanging,” Richie whispered. 

“Oh. Are you…? I’m sorry, Richard. I didn’t mean… Oh, look at you. You’re all hot.” 

Severin pressed a cool hand to Richie’s forehead like he was checking his temperature. “I can’t touch your neck anymore, Richie. When I do I only want to bite it. And that can’t happen, of course.” 

“Other places,” Richie said. “There – there are other places.” He whispered: “Everywhere else. Please.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, again, for typos. I'm sure there are dozens, hundreds, billions of them.
> 
> And I know Dubois didn't speak with a French accent before, but he does now. 
> 
> Okay bye now.


	9. Answers

“Everywhere else. Please.” 

The words were like a door opening for Severin, the possibilities – where previously there had been none – suddenly overwhelming. 

Severin took a deep breath. Here was this little omega beside him, not in heat, but visibly desperate. Giving himself – trusting himself to – Severin. Desperate _for_ Severin. 

He didn’t want to mate with Severin, but that was okay. This was enough. This was nearly everything. 

Before he could move, please Richard, give Richard what he wanted, Severin had to take a moment to breathe in Richard’s scent. Look at him. He was big-eyed, delicate and delicious; he literally made Severin’s mouth water. 

He was leaning in to kiss Richard’s forehead when Richard bumped faces with him by looking up, omega nose against alpha chin. 

“Please hurry up,” Richard requested, so earnestly that Severin had to laugh. 

“And if I don’t want to hurry up?” Severin asked, leaning down to take Richard’s warm face in his hand, pecking his lips. He stayed like that, closing his eyes, breathing Richard in, their lips touching and unmoving. 

Richard’s lips tickled Severin’s as he said indignantly, “I said ‘please’…”

Severin chuckled. He could tell from Richard’s impatience that he was used to getting his way; probably even James couldn’t resist his pleas for long. 

“I heard you,” Severin said, and he pulled away, reaching his arms around Richard and maneuvering him easily onto his lap. 

  


Sitting on Severin’s lap made Richie feel like he was sitting on a throne. Severin was so hard and warm and big and wonderful, his arms wrapped snug around Richie. Making Richie feel bigger, somehow, for being so close to Severin. 

But still, Richie pushed Severin’s arms away momentarily, freed from his embrace so that Richie could quickly pull his shirt over his head, tossing it to the floor. He felt Severin’s eyes scan him, and any self-consciousness he may have had as a result was immediately pushed away by Severin’s sudden movement. 

Severin seemed to have changed his mind about the lap-sitting, because he instead gently guided Richie off of him, moving out of the way so that Richie could lay on the couch, head against a pillow. Severin straddled him, Richie feeling a sharp thrill as his strong, solid thighs touched either side of Richie, as he looked down at Richie, completely in control. 

“Is this alright?” Severin asked. 

Richie nodded eagerly. Still, Severin took several seconds to look at Richie’s face, as if assessing something. 

Then, as quick and sudden as the snap of a thread, Severin was on him, big hands brushing down his shoulders, chest, waist, resting on his hips briefly before he leaned down and kissed Richie on the lips. 

“'Everywhere else?'” he asked. “Like this?” 

Richie could sense the uncertainty in his voice _(how could he be unsure?)_ , but when Richie replied with an affirmative, breathless, “Yes, yes, please,” Severin’s hands were back on him. They ran up and down his torso as Severin kissed Richie’s chest, shoulders, upper arms. He was carefully avoiding Richie's neck, Richie noted with both relief and disappointment. His kisses were electric – literally. Richie’s skin felt pleasant, silvery shocks that alighted him, made him hot and flushed. It was not dissimilar to the connection he’d felt on the bed that one day, when Severin had come back from his doctor’s appointment in a miserable mood. 

There was the simultaneous feeling of arousal – of arousal being fed, of heat and need – and also of a deep connection that buzzed through Richie like a current, into Severin. Or maybe it was coming from Severin, into Richie. 

“Oh!” Richie squeaked, an interruption to his steady whimpers and breathless breathing. 

Severin’s lips, soft as rose petals, had brushed over Richie’s nipple. 

Severin froze, eyes looking up at Richie. Richie became aware of his own half-open mouth and muddled gaze when he saw Severin’s reaction to it: a terrific, mischievous grin. 

“I think I found something Richie likes,” Severin teased, and kissed him once more. 

Richie couldn’t stop his reaction. He cried out, feeling himself stir. His skin felt hot, hot, unbearably hot, and he scrambled, reaching out to link his fingers with Severin’s hair. 

Previously a buzz cut, Severin’s hair had grown in the eight weeks Richie had known him, and Severin hissed when Richie’s fingers pulled at his scalp. 

“Easy, there,” Severin said. 

Richie didn’t let go of his hold completely, about to release a gushing stream of begs for Severin to continue. 

Severin didn’t need it, though. He stayed where he was, not looking for new territory to kiss. Richie watched, stilled and awed, as Severin took Richie’s nipple between his lips. Richie’s grip tightened involuntarily, the sensation intense, overwhelming, making him incoherent, perceiving nothing but the deep, thick pool of pleasure Severin dipped him into. 

  


Severin’s eyes never left Richard’s face. His hand reached up, twisted a bit uncomfortably, to rest on Richard’s hands, ready to pull them off if he tried to yank Severin’s hair out of his scalp again. But for now Richard looked only blissful, lips parted so beautifully they made something within Severin ache. 

Severin hadn’t realized how sensitive Richard would be here. Severin realized that, strangely, no one had ever touched his own nipples before, at least not after he’d presented. He didn’t have the privilege of masturbating alone like a beta (did omegas masturbate?), so he’d never experimented on himself, and certainly no strange omega had bothered on the occasions when he’d stepped into a brothel. 

He didn’t imagine it’d be as good for him as it was for Richard, though. Severin sucked gently, wetly, at perhaps an inch of Richard’s skin. It seemed so subtle a movement, so small a space, but it sent Richard into a gasping ecstasy. 

The sound Richard made when Severin employed the tip of his tongue made Severin close his eyes. His hips were raised so that his erection – massive, obvious, and ugly through his trousers, although Richard could not see it from his angle – would not touch Richard, but his cock throbbed as Richard moaned. 

Severin licked and lapped, delighting in each extra squirm. He never thought he’d get to do this, hadn’t even dared to imagine it. The _noises_ the little omega made. He knew about omega noises; had induced some in a select number of omegas over the years himself. They were angelic, sounds soldiers would dream of at night when they needed a reason to wake up in the morning. But coming from Richard…

“Oh, oh, yes!” His voice became higher than usual, the soprano welcome to Severin’s ears. Severin had pulled away from Richard’s left side, dipped his lips and tongue to Richard’s right nipple. Richard squirmed, legs wrapping tightly around Severin’s middle. Severin smiled, stuck in a little omega-lock. He liked it. 

He removed his hand from Richard’s and held himself up. With his left hand he reached out and rolled Richard’s erect nipple, while continuing to lick the other one. 

Richard hissed, and Severin sensed it wasn’t a good sound. Stopped, looked up. But Richard’s eyes still begged him to go on, and he whispered only, “Soft.” 

Severin touched very, very softly. 

Richard relaxed back into the couch, although seconds later not a muscle seemed relaxed in him at all. Severin felt Richard’s body tense beneath him as he continued his touches. 

Richard’s hand gripped Severin’s hair, his eyes closing, face tight in concentration, and Severin didn’t pull away from the partially-painful tug. Because Richard was crying out, over and over and over again, utterly lost, “Just like that. Like that. Don’t stop, don’t stop, please don’t stop, please!” 

So gorgeous. As if Severin would ever – could ever – stop. 

Abruptly, Richard stilled. Went silent. 

Severin did his best to watch, vaguely disbelieving. 

It hadn’t dawned on him for a moment that Richard could actually come from this. 

Richard was biting his lip so hard that, ridiculously, Severin felt a pull of concern. Then he opened his mouth. 

“Severin!” he gasped. His hips jerked up against Severin’s middle. Severin didn’t stop his careful motions, keeping the stimulation constant. 

“Severin!” Richard cried out again, desperate for what Severin was already providing. 

Then, all at once, his hand released Severin’s hair. Severin drew away, not wanting to overstimulate the poor thing. 

Richard collapsed back against the couch, head on a pillow. 

  


Seconds passed, and Richie couldn’t open his eyes. He kept thinking he should, should take a peek and check up on Severin, see if Severin wanted a helping hand himself. Kept thinking that in a few seconds, another few seconds, another few, he’d feel like opening his eyes again, even though all this time was passing and he only wanted to keep them blissfully shut. 

Then he surrendered his busy thoughts, because they were distracting him from the slow, soft blanket of contentment that was rising up his body, from his toes to the crown of his head. He could feel Severin’s reassuring heat on top of him, smell Severin’s scent coming from the couch, the pillow, from Severin himself. He’d been magnificently pleasured, had come powerfully, and now a deep, instinctive drive told him that, with his alpha nearby, he was safe from absolutely everything in the world. He could be relaxed and loose and even unresponsive, and it was okay. 

  


It took Severin a few seconds for his mind to restart. It was like that, when you came. 

Came? No, of course he didn’t come. There was no omega in heat here, he hadn’t penetrated anything. Impossible. And besides that, he didn’t feel as if he’d come. No post-coital tiredness. 

The first thought that came to his mind was _marathon._ It felt like he had just run a marathon and won. First place. Cash prize. He wasn’t breathless, didn’t feel the physical effects of such a run. Only the tremendous success. _He’d won._

He’d felt this feeling before. One of accomplishing something so great, so powerful, that it was invigorating. An absolute ecstasy. Even if he found out his apartment was burning right now, if he learned that Sebastian had died and he himself was going to be somehow re-drafted into the army, he wouldn’t care. Whatever this feeling was, it was more powerful than that. 

He’d last felt it before he’d presented. Over twenty years ago, but he still remembered: When he’d been accepted to Oxford. Received the letter in the mail. The one thing he’d wanted, a higher education, the one thing his entire family had wanted from him – and for a few, perfect days, he’d thought he’d had it. 

That’s what this moment was like. 

He laughed aloud. 

“Richard, I feel like I just reached the top of a mountain,” he said. “Not anywhere in England or Ireland, I mean the Alps. I feel like I’ve climbed the fucking Alps. Have you heard of the Alps, Richard? They’re – ” 

He looked down and saw that Richard’s eyes were closed. 

“…in mainland Europe,” he finished softly. 

Richard and he were on entirely different energy levels, he realized. Richard just came. Severin just…just what, exactly? Why did he feel this high? 

_“Nothing can make an alpha happier than having a happy omega.”_ The annoying, beta real estate agent’s voice came back to him. 

Was that it, then? This was biology’s way of giving Severin a cookie, saying, _Congrats, mate, you did really fucking well. Look at the little bugger, he’s all knocked out._

Ingenious. An evolutional adaptation, that’s what this was. A euphoric rush, accompanied by a salivating mouth and a vague longing to bite at Richie's neck, as if Severin's body thought they were a couple in heat. So this was all biology. An alpha would feel fucking amazing when an omega came, even if _the alpha didn’t get to come._ But why? 

Oh. 

Severin must have calmed a bit already, because he became aware of the unpleasant wetness in his pants. His cock wasn’t hard anymore – clearly it understood that it wasn’t getting anything – but it’d dripped enough precome with its want to fill a fucking container. Might as well cancel this week’s appointment, really. 

An alpha didn’t have to orgasm, of course, to “come.” It was an evolutional adaptation. It was a mating thing.

Severin left Richard, just for a moment, sensing that he probably shouldn’t but also really, really needing to change. 

When he came back – not a full two minutes later – Richard was sitting upright, eyes big, looking around. 

“I’m right here,” Severin said softly. 

Richard made a happy noise from deep within his throat. He put out his arms, possibly wanting Severin to hug him. Or maybe he wanted Severin to do what Severin actually did, which was pick him up. 

He nuzzled Severin’s neck, quiet and contented, still a little too buzzed out for real words, while Severin took him to the bedroom. He smiled sleepily when Severin placed him on the bed. As Severin did so, he noticed that Richard’s nipples were reddened from Severin’s touch, possibly sore. 

“I’ll be right back,” he said. 

“Don’t leave,” Richard said, reaching out with a slow, exhausted hand. 

Richard’s post-coital voice was the best thing Severin had ever heard. So sweet and needy, it gave Severin the strange urge to kneel beside Richard. 

“Thirty seconds,” he promised instead, leaning down to kiss Richard’s forehead before he left the room. 

  


Severin took less than thirty seconds, although Richie still didn’t like to be without him. He wanted to be touching Severin, to have Severin touch him. Sure enough, once he returned Severin climbed onto the bed, holding a bottle in his hand. 

Although it took a significant effort from his exhausted limbs, Richie pushed himself over so that he was farther towards the center of the great bed. Severin met him halfway, running a hand through Richie’s hair. Richie began to purr at the contact, closing his eyes. 

After a moment, he felt a pleasantly warm liquid touch the tender areas of his chest. He opened his eyes. 

“Honey,” Severin whispered. “I don’t want you to chap.” 

Richie giggled, watching a small amount of honey be poured onto his skin. Severin didn’t further irritate his nipples by rubbing it in, and it felt soothing. 

Then Severin set the honey bottle on the bedside table, and Richie got (for the umpteenth time that afternoon) what he wanted: for Severin to cuddle with him. Severin kissed him, too, just pecks on his cheeks, nose, and forehead. But they felt pleasant, and Richie’s rumbled purr continued in an otherwise silent room. 

  


Severin rested his head on a pillow, beside Richard. He leaned forward to kiss Richard’s cheek, closing his eyes and listening to the sound of Richard’s purr. Like a little kitten. How was it possible for a single creature to be utterly enticing one moment, and heartbreakingly adorable the next? 

Except not heartbreaking. Because Richard was right here, in bed with him, and was letting Severin peck his flawless, fair face as he pleased, apparently even enjoying it. 

“I love your purr,” Severin whispered, dipping down so that his breath would be directly against Richard’s ear. 

Richard’s eyes were still closed, but he smiled up at the ceiling. “Do alphas ever purr?” 

“No,” Severin said. Paused. “At least I don’t think so.” 

He hadn’t known alphas experienced euphoria after an omega came, so who knew? For some reason he’d never felt that bliss with any other omega before, so maybe Richard could be the first to make him purr, too. 

“You’re not sure?” Richard asked. Severin had to kiss him every time he spoke, he couldn’t help himself. 

“No,” Severin whispered again. “There’s…a lot I don’t know about omegas, it turns out. So there’s probably plenty I don’t know about myself, too.” 

“What don’t you know about omegas?” Richard asked, eyes opening wide and curious, turning to Severin. 

“I didn’t know anyone at all could come solely from nipple stimulation,” Severin said honestly. He knew that he – like any army alpha – basically had a child’s knowledge regarding sex and all related subjects. Unless an alpha presented early, around fourteen or fifteen, and was very, very explorative as a teenager, they wouldn’t exactly have time in the army to discover themselves. 

His knowledge gap was embarrassing, but he felt it’d be worse to hide it from Richard. He couldn’t make Richard feel good, after all, if he was just groping in the dark (figuratively and literally). Of course, Richard seemed outspoken enough for the two of them. Which was helpful. 

“I’d never done that before,” Richard said, cheeks going pink. Severin was on those gorgeous cheeks in an instant, showering them with kisses until Richard started to giggle and squirm, like he was being tickled. Then Severin pulled back. 

“So only I’ve done that to you,” Severin said, grinning broadly. 

“Don’t look so proud,” Richard scolded gently. “I…It’s always been one of my most sensitive areas… Is it for you, too?” 

“I’m not sure,” Severin said. 

Richard suddenly smiled, not quite as Severin had grinned, but still with a hint of mischief. “Would you like to find out?” 

Before Severin could respond, Richard scrambled up, apparently not so tired anymore. He was reaching for the hem of Severin’s shirt. Severin watched blankly. 

“What are you doing?” he asked. 

Richard looked up. “Returning the favor?” He seemed unsure, now, probably because of Severin’s slight frown. 

“There was no favor,” Severin said. “Consider it a gift. No – just a – a…” A gift from Richard to Severin, Severin thought, although he wasn’t sure how to voice that aloud. 

“Let me give you a gift back,” Richard said, reaching again for Severin’s shirt. 

“There’s no gift to give,” Severin said, bewildered. Then a thought dawned on him. “Richard. Have you… Haven’t you ever been with an alpha before?” 

Richard’s eyes got big, not in their usual, persuasive way, but in surprise, maybe even fear. He shook his head vigorously. 

“Never,” Richard said passionately. “Never ever ever ever ever _ever_ – except for you. And we’re not mated. So it doesn’t count.” 

That hung in the air for a moment. 

And fell, heavy on Severin’s chest. 

Richard and Severin spoke at the same time. 

“Oh,” Severin said softly. 

“I didn’t mean that,” Richard said. 

“No, it’s fine. You’re right. It’s not important.” Severin made a gesture of brushing it aside, although the words stayed with him, like a sick aftertaste in his own mouth. “The point is – alphas don’t feel anything. Pleasure-wise, I mean. Not unless they’re with an omega in heat.” 

Richard looked at Severin for a moment, then laughed. 

“I’m not stupid,” he said. 

“I know you’re not,” Severin said seriously. 

“Omegas only go in heat once every three months,” Richard said. 

Severin agreed. 

“Well, obviously alphas…” Richard blushed, looking away. “I mean, obviously they…get off more often than that. So unless alphas take on multiple mates – which they don’t – they’d only get to come four weeks out of every year.” 

“Yes, that’s right,” Severin said. 

“Exactly,” Richard said. “And that doesn’t make sense, so let me – ” 

He reached, for a third time, for Severin’s shirt, but this time Severin lightly grasped his wrist, stopping him. 

“That’s the deal, Richard. I can’t say I approved of it, but that’s how it is,” Severin said. 

Richard gaped at him, and indeed it took several more minutes for him to be fully convinced. It took many, many more minutes after that to explain what, precisely, Severin’s weekly medical appointments were for. This took so long mainly because Severin kept having to pause and look at the ceiling, trying to control the ashamed, utterly-mortified feeling he had as he revealed his great weakness, the bulking chasm that it was, to the person he wanted most in the world to admire him. 

Once he had finished, he waited for Richard to respond. He anticipated some great verdict, a final judgment, leaving it to Richard to decide, once and for all, whether Severin’s dependence on weekly appointments made him weak or not. 

But Richard was apparently oblivious to the responsibility placed on him. He said instead, “What do you wanna know about omegas?” 

Severin laughed aloud. He leaned forward and pulled Richard toward him, kissing the top of his head again and again and again, reveling in the feel of Richard’s soft hair against his lips. 

“How many times can I kiss you? Do omegas have a limit?” 

“Infinitely,” Richard answered earnestly, as if this were a precise calculation read from a medical textbook. “Omegas may be kissed an infinite number of times.” 

“Do you have a nipple that’s more sensitive than the other?” Severin asked. 

Richard paused, considering. He said, “The left.” 

“Do you mind when I pick you up?” 

Richard wrapped his arms around Severin, looking up into his eyes. “I like it.” 

“How much ejaculate do you produce when you come?” Severin’s face was deliberately straight and serious, so that Richard cracked up laughing. 

The laugh that boiled over and out from his chest was a wonderful sound of real happiness, and once it was over he admitted, “Not a lot.” 

“Quarter of a cup?” Severin said, trying to imagine what ‘not a lot’ would be for him. 

“Much less,” Richard said. 

“Tablespoon?” 

“Less than a teaspoon,” Richard said. 

“That’s not a lot at all.” 

“I guess it’s not.” 

Silence. Then, “Is it true omegas don’t masturbate?” 

“Who told you that?!” 

“Something I heard. Not true, then? Interesting. Is it true that…?”

The questions continued, back and forth, until the sun had set and it was time for dinner. They skipped dinnertime, preferring to talk than eat, preferring not to leave the bed. Finally the room was dark. 

“I guess I’m not going back to Jimmy’s tonight,” Richard said, sighing out into the room. 

“I could drive you home,” Severin said, although, curled around Richard as he was, he didn’t want to move. 

“Hm,” Richard murmured. “Funny you should say that.” 

“Why?” 

“Because I already feel like I’m home.”


	10. Morning

It was proof of his utter contentment that, for one of the only times in the last two decades, Severin awoke an hour later than was his usual. Still this time was too early for Richard, whom he found sleeping, soundly and with a small smile on his unaware lips, in his arms. 

Severin spent a considerable length of time then observing Richard, making sure not to move too much. Richard’s breaths were slow and even, but lasted shorter than his own. Such tiny, precious lungs. 

Precious. His Eton-brainwashed brain offered him a brief etymology: from the Latin _pretiosus,_ meaning ‘costly.’ 

Severin owned many costly things. His flat, in the most desirable neighborhood in London. His vast bed and all of his new appliances, gadgets, and clothes. His illimitable bank account. 

It meant nothing to him. He could spit on it. 

“Richard,” he whispered. He kissed Richard’s forehead. Richard inhaled deeply, a sure sign of waking. 

“Richard,” Severin whispered again, to coax him back to consciousness. 

The flickering of his soft, pale eyelids. The parting of his morning-dry lips. His messy morning hair, frazzled and flattened in unpredictable patches. His thin, bare torso, and the way his bones poked through his skin; his sculpted clavicle, all the parts of his little shoulder. So delicate. 

Worth everything. 

Precious. 

Richard’s small smile widened as he opened his eyes to Severin. He nudged himself closer, so that his lips lightly brushed against Severin’s, and rested there. 

“Good morning,” he said sleepily. 

“Mm…” A low growl rumbled from Severin’s throat. Then he sniffed. 

“Hey, Richard?” 

“Yes?” 

“Go brush your teeth, kitty.” 

Richard pulled away. “Aww…” 

“Come on,” Severin said, sitting up. “Then come back and kiss me.” 

Richard grinned at the thought; in not much time he managed to roll out of bed and head towards the bathroom. 

Not having planned on sleeping over anyone’s flat, he hadn’t brought pajamas. He wore briefs, and Severin admired the view of his bare back, spotted the freckle on his shoulder blade. He wanted to kiss that freckle. 

Once Richard returned, doubtlessly fresh-mouthed, he got onto the bed from its end, climbing atop of Severin and crawling onto his chest. Finally he loomed over Severin and said, into his spoiled, omegic voice, “Kiss.” 

Severin kissed him obediently. He pecked lightly, Richard returning the gesture. It was clear, from the way Richard’s labored breath matched his own, that this wasn’t enough for them. Normally around this time an alpha would lean in to bite his omega’s neck, leaving nibbles that would feel heavenly on an omega’s sensitive skin. 

“Severin,” Richard murmured against his lips. “I feel…like I’m going into heat…” 

Severin was oddly aware of his own teeth, of the way they bit painfully into his own cheek, his tongue, looking for sweet flesh he couldn’t get. He lusted after Richard’s throat; his mouth salivated. But he swallowed it down and growled, “You’re not.” 

“But I’m hot,” Richard whined. Severin felt a pang of sympathy for him, which helped clear his head. 

“I have an idea,” Severin whispered, stroking Richard’s hair. “There’s something betas do that could help.” 

  


Betas? Richie didn’t much want to do anything betas did, but he said, “What is it?” 

“Kissing,” Severin said. 

“Omegas and alphas kiss,” Richie argued. 

“No, little one.” Severin smiled. “This is a different kind of kissing. I kiss your lips, like this, like normal.” Severin’s lips pressed against his; it felt electric, a silvery rush, his skin prickling in delight. Although it wasn’t enough. “And you kiss mine, just so.” 

“Mhm…” Richie murmured. He closed his eyes when he returned the peck, feeling Severin smiling against Richie’s lips. 

“And then sometimes betas do this,” Severin whispered. He leaned in again, kissing Richie, but this time he didn’t stop at a peck. His tongue flickered across Richie’s bottom lip, inducing a shiver. Richie liked the tongue. He liked being licked, always. He parted his mouth, and Severin complied with his body language, tongue skimming Richie’s. 

Severin pulled back, laughing. 

“What?” Richie asked, ducking down to tuck his head again Severin’s neck. Had he done it wrong? It’d felt so, so right, though…

“Don’t try to get an omega to kiss like a beta,” Severin said warmly. His hand pressed comfortingly against Richie’s back. “It’s nothing, Richard. It’s fine. It’s just that betas don’t normally open their mouths so wide, like they’re hoping to be swallowed whole.” Severin chuckled again. “Aw, no, don’t be embarrassed. It was cute.” 

“Your tongue felt nice,” Richie said defensively. “I wanted to feel it more.” 

“It’s fine,” Severin said. “We’re not betas. We can kiss however we want.” 

“Good.” With that said, Richie opened his mouth again, tilting his head up so that Severin could “kiss” him. He wanted Severin’s tongue in his mouth, tasting him, marking him. 

And then the heat returned. It boiled through him as Severin’s mouth breathed hot over his. But this time it was different: the ache in his neck was soothed by Severin’s territorial treatment of another place, and overall this heat felt less like _in heat_ and more like plain lust.

Which was different. And, Richie supposed, better.

  


Severin pulled Richard closer to him, then rolled over so that he, Severin, was on top of Richard, legs straddling either side of him. 

Severin, not breaking apart the kiss, reached for the waistband of Richard’s briefs. Together they made a quick job of tossing them off the bed. 

Since Richard was beneath him, his arse was still perfectly covered. But there was nothing inherently sexual about a male omega’s cock; it was fine to look there. Full frontal nudes could be seen of male omegas in mainstream advertising, their little cocks considered cute even by most betas. They could tan mostly nude on French beaches, as long as their bums were covered. And yet, when Severin pulled away from Richard’s lips to reach down, he felt a thrill at the sight of Richard’s pink cock, already leaking a drop of precome. 

Severin reached down to take Richard’s cock in his fist. Richard, however, put a hand on his chest. 

“Oh! Um, no, please,” he said. 

Severin stopped. Looked up. “You don’t want me touching you?” 

Richard bit his lip. “I do. But… But you’ve already made me come. I wanna touch you, now.” Seeing that Severin was about to protest, he said, “I know you can’t come right now. I don’t mind if you don’t mind. I just…” Richard’s cheeks went pink. “I just want to touch you.” 

Severin watched as Richard reached for Severin’s pajamas; it played out as if in slow-motion, Severin suddenly unable to hear anything but his pounding heart, unable to feel anything but panic erupt from his chest. 

His oversized cock. Hideous. A cute, delicate omega wouldn't want to touch it – Richard wouldn’t want a partner like Severin if he knew. Severin was frozen, unable to move. 

At the last moment, just before Richard’s fingers touched Severin’s waistband, Severin tore himself away, rolling off of Richard and onto his side. 

“Why - ?” Richard was about to ask, but he looked up and saw Severin’s eyes locked on the bedroom doorway. 

  


Richie turned around to see what Severin was staring at, what had made Severin jump away like that. Then he himself jumped up, happiness fluttering in his heart at the sight. 

“Jimmy!” he cried. He bounced on his knees. His big brother was leaning against the doorway. Admittedly, he didn’t look too happy. He must have seen Severin atop of Richie, of course. And… Oh. Richie had forgotten to tell Jimmy he’d be sleeping over. 

Uh-oh.

Jimmy sauntered into the room, walking slowly towards the bed. Each step took a long time and, although Richie knew his big brother must be unhappy with him, Richie took pleasure in watching one leg put in front of the other just so. He was wearing one of his bespoke suits for work, and the trousers fit his legs so well, made them look so much longer than Richie’s. Richie couldn’t look away. 

Which would explain why it wasn’t until Jimmy reached the end of the bed that Richie noticed he had two mugs of tea in his hands. 

“Good morning,” Jimmy sang. “Don’t you always need your morning tea before you’re able to fill your little head with dirty thoughts?” 

Richie blushed. 

“Or maybe you don’t need tea with big, alphic Severin?” Jimmy suggested. “Maybe he’s just much more exciting than me. Should I go dump this?” 

Jimmy held up one of the mugs of tea. 

“No, Jimmy!” Richie said. “Please, don’t waste tea!” 

Jimmy smiled. “Of course. We shouldn’t be wasteful. Here you are, little brother. Drink up.” 

He passed Richie a mug and kept one for himself. He sipped from it before setting it down, and proceeded to unbutton his suit jacket. 

Jimmy hadn’t made Severin tea. That Jimmy had assumed they would share a mug felt like a warm gesture, like he was finally acknowledging Richie and Severin’s closeness. Severin was looking at them both from the far side of the bed, eyes darting back and forth. Finally they rested on Jimmy. 

“How do you keep getting into my flat?” he growled. 

Jimmy gave absolutely no sign of having heard Severin. Richie felt himself worrying; was Jimmy’s hearing going off? He’d have to convince his brother to go in for a check-up soon. 

After Jimmy was done with the jacket, he lifted one foot and began to undo his shoelace. Richie watched, loving the way his brother’s fingers moved so quickly and skillfully. One shoe fell off, then the other. Jimmy lined them up evenly on the floor and continued to unbuckle his belt, pulling it out of his trouser belt loops and draping it across one of Severin’s chairs. 

Richie’s heart quickened as his brother unzipped his trousers. Richie knew he wasn’t going to take anything else off, but he didn’t need to. In fact, it thrilled Richie more this way. In a room with Jimmy and Severin, Richie was the only one entirely bare. It made him feel especially omegic, and frisky. 

Jimmy pulled out his cock, although he kept one hand over it as he crawled onto the bed. He didn’t say anything, didn’t need to. Richie was already laying obediently, submissively on his back, legs bent so that his knees were drawn up. He knew his hole was already wet; Severin’s kisses had taken care of that. 

And now this, the sight of his big brother above him, taking control of him, pushing his folded legs farther apart, thrilled him more. Jimmy didn’t work him open, didn’t need to. He could tell that Richie was wet and, moreover, Jimmy (although he would never openly mention this) had an omega’s cock, which was much smaller than anything Richie’s body was truly meant to accommodate. 

Taking him in was easy. 

And it felt so, so good. 

Physically it was nice. Very, very nice. But…to be beneath Jimmy, looking up at his big brother in this way, his big brother in his crisp, collared shirt, to be able to watch as Jimmy’s constant, bored expression slipped into one of pleasure, even of abandonment – and to think! That was Richie’s body making Jimmy look that way, making Jimmy feel so good! 

That was what really made sex with his big brother amazing. 

Jimmy thrust into him slowly, which was unlike him. He took longer than usual, his expression strangely determined. 

And then he pulled out and turned Richie around, so that Richie was on his tummy, arse in the air. He entered Richie again, and this time Richie elicited a moan. Oooh. It felt very, _very_ good. 

“Jimmy.” Richie hadn’t meant to cry out, but he couldn’t help it. When he opened his eyes, he saw Severin staring at him, at him and Jimmy. That just excited him more. Oh, he was going to come soon… 

“Severin,” he said softly. They gazed into each other’s eyes, and Richie felt a flickering warmth in his chest, the silvery, electric rush of their connection. 

Jimmy yanked his hair. 

“Yowl!” Richie squeezed his eyes shut, smacking Jimmy’s hand away in pain. 

“Mmm… Let me kiss it better,” Jimmy said, resting atop Richie to stroke his hair, kiss it. 

Richie panted. “Br-brother…” 

Oooh, it felt good. Jimmy was small, and he wanted to feel something deeper, but it didn’t matter. Enough of this and he was going to come. 

“Oh!” 

“Oh?” That was Jimmy’s voice, so teasing. He was always especially teasing right before Richie came, when Richie had no hope of fighting back. 

“Oh, oh, big brother…” Richie began to babble. Knew he was babbling. Sometimes Jimmy would repeat what he said, mocking him. He didn’t like that, but he let Jimmy do it; knew Jimmy needed to feel in-control, alphic despite his tiny body. 

Jimmy didn’t imitate him this time, though. He only continued his rhythm, until – 

“Yes! Nngn…” Richie moaned helplessly and then, suddenly, bit the pillow beneath him, the pillowcase between his teeth blocking the loudest of his screams. 

He came, hard, his body trembling against his brother’s. Jimmy didn’t lighten his thrusts, not until he came a few moments later. 

Jimmy pulled out. Richie collapsed against Severin’s sheets, jelly-boned and satisfied. 

Jimmy lay behind him. Richie closed his eyes, anticipating his favorite part of all of this. 

After a moment, Jimmy began to purr. 

  


Before meeting Richard, Severin had always thought that only _young_ omega siblings were incestuous. It was plenty common for omega siblings to experiment with one another in school, but he’d never heard of adult omegas doing it before. Probably it was because Richard and James were both mateless. 

Severin wondered vaguely if he was supposed to take action. James wanted to waltz into Severin’s flat and take his little brother, reasserting his dominance, reminding Severin that it didn’t matter where Richard slept at night or whose arms he was in: He would always be James’s, always his to touch on demand, his to dominate and penetrate whenever he pleased, in the very way Severin would never be able to. 

But Richard wasn’t an animal. Submit to his brother though he may, that didn’t mean he felt anything less for Severin. 

So far from making a point, James had given Severin a show. He lingered on the memory of Richard’s eyes as he was being fucked. Richard had looked right at him. Severin had been struck still from the intensity of it. A warm energy had swelled up in his chest. He’d been feet away on the bed, but he’d felt connected to Richard as if he himself had been the one inside him. 

Richard’s eyes were closed now. A deep purr overcame him, which was beautiful to listen to. 

And another soft purr was sounding from a certain, second omega, as well. 

Severin grinned. 

James had scarcely managed to zip his trousers before landing atop his brother once more. Not to bite him or mark him in any way. James took Richard’s cheeks between his palms, bent down, and licked him. 

This was nothing like Severin’s licks from earlier. This was a soft, gentle lapping. A post-coital bath. And Richard, furthermore, was returning it. 

James lapped behind his brother’s ears, cleaned his neck. Richard turned his head so that he could lick any skin available to him. They were tangled together, limbs intertwined, their purrs joining in a single, adorable rumble. 

James couldn’t fight his biology. He was an omega, and apparently this was what omegas did after they had sex with someone they loved. 

Of course, if they were two omegas, that meant there was plenty of room for an alpha. 

Severin leaned over to the other side of the bed. It was less a conscious thought than, much like the brothers’ omega bathing, an instinct. Which would explain why he went for James, who happened to be closest, instead of Richard, when he opened his mouth to deliver an affectionate nip to an omega’s ear. 

A sudden thump, and Severin’s cheek stung. He blinked, shaking his head clear. 

James had whacked him. His eyes sparked now and he hissed – literally, hissed – in Severin’s direction. 

Severin returned to his initial, safe distance on the other side of the bed. He surrendered himself to the role of spectator, not so displeased. His cock throbbed, unsatisfied, but he ignored it, focusing instead on the delightful sound of Richard’s giggle as James licked at his little nose, tickling him. 

The omegas bathed one another with mutual enthusiasm until they seemed to be wet, clean, and sated. 

Then James stood, abruptly alphic-stern again. As methodically as he’d undressed, he now re-dressed. Then he stepped toward Richard and bent down to kiss his hair once. 

“Big brother has work to do,” James said. 

James gazed down into Richard’s tea mug, which he’d put on the bedside table. 

“Still half-full,” James tsked. “Don’t you want to finish the tea your brother made for you?” 

Little Richard hurried into a sitting position, although Severin could tell he’d much rather lay and relax. Eager to please James, however, he took the mug and finished it down in a few gulps. Then he smiled at James. 

“Thank you, big brother,” he said softly. 

James patted him on the head, smoothed his own suit jacket with a quick gesture, turned on his heels, and left. 

Several seconds later Severin heard the front door close.

  


Once Jimmy was gone, Richie forced himself to roll onto his side. He very much wanted to go back to sleep – just for another hour or so! – but Severin had been so very patient and polite, not even berating Jimmy for the startled thump he’d given Severin. 

He reached out to Severin. Severin’s eyes sometimes got this warm look in them, when he looked at Richie, and Richie was never sure what brought it on. But now Severin reached out and placed his hand, lightly, on Richie’s chest. 

He was feeling its vibrations. He liked the sound of Richie’s purr. 

Richie smiled, leaning forward for a kiss. As they kissed, he pressed against Severin’s shoulders with his fingertips, and at first Severin seemed uncertain as to what Richie wanted, but then he understood. He moved flat on his back, allowing Richie to straddle him. Severin was so much bigger than Richie that it was uncomfortable, almost, to have his legs parted on either side of Severin. But he could lean all of his weight on the alpha, even pressing against Severin’s chest with his hands, and Severin didn’t seem to feel a thing. 

Richie began with another, dry peck on Severin’s lips. Severin smiled up at him. They were having a conversation with their eyes: Severin could tell Richie was planning something but didn’t know what. 

Richie continued with dry pecks down Severin’s neck, his chest, breathing in to get a whiff of his appetizing scent. Severin’s bare chest was smooth and broad and hard, rather a canvas on which Richie could paint his kisses, a playground for Richie to enjoy. 

Richie went farther down, however, kissing along Severin’s trail of light, soft hairs, brushing his lips over Severin's hard hipbones. 

“Richard.” Severin’s voice sounded serious and strained. Richie reached for his waistband. 

“Richard.” This time Richie looked up. Severin’s lips were a straight line. 

“I – I...” Richie swallowed, tried smiling. “I wanna make you feel good.” 

He reached again for Severin’s waistband. 

Severin stopped him with a hand wrapped around his wrist. 

“Come here,” Severin sighed, patting the pillow beside him with his free hand. “Just rest your head and go to sleep for a little while.” 

“But I want to – ” 

“I’m going to take a shower,” Severin said. And when Richie didn’t move, he simply sat up, picked Richie up and placed him back on the mattress. Then he stood and left for the bathroom. Richie heard the click of the door’s lock. 

With Jimmy and Severin having both been near him moments before, Richie felt terribly alone on the big, vast bed. He didn’t understand what the problem was. Why wouldn’t Severin let Richie touch him? Severin had enjoyed watching Richie and Jimmy. Richie had been able to see the outline of his cock, hard with want, straining against his pants. It didn’t seem fair that Severin could witness Richie come – twice – but deny Richie the experience of seeing the alpha equivalent. Why would Severin hide something from Richie, when Richie had made it clear he would give every piece of himself to Severin?

  


The water came down cold. Severin forced himself beneath it, squeezed his eyes shut. 

Except – except, inevitably, his eyes opened once more. His eyes opened and he looked down, as if some secret part of him wanted to see _it_ and realize that _it_ was not so bad after all, not so large, not so worthy of Richard’s revulsion. 

When he looked down, the hope extinguished. 

He was big. Too big, and always would be. 

Which was fine, he told himself. In fact, this entire situation – James inviting himself over and all – was ideal. Richard didn’t want to mate with Severin, didn’t even think their relationship ‘counted,’ as he’d said last night. So Severin was permitted to keep this one thing from him. Richard was refraining from sharing all of himself with Severin, and Severin was doing the same. And, really, Richard would be grateful if he knew. 

There was no need for Severin to let Richard know about the most contemptible and revolting parts of himself.


	11. Performance

Richard opened the door and ushered him in. Severin was aware of the eyes of backstage makeup artists and hair stylists on him, doubtlessly about to burst into giggles as soon as he closed the door. He didn’t think the omegic backstage crew was accustomed to having any alpha presence around except for that of the director, but that hadn’t stopped Richard from inviting Severin backstage for the opening night of his newest show. 

“Please tell me that’s not your costume,” Severin said as he eyed Richard, standing so open and eager before him, wearing only a T-shirt and briefs. 

Richard giggled. “Of course not, silly. My costume’s a secret.” 

“Ah, I see,” Severin said, smiling and leaning down to kiss Richard. He’d meant it to be merely an affectionate peck, but neither of them had the will to break apart from one another. Severin hadn’t seen Richard since this morning – ages, then – and Richard opened his mouth against Severin’s lips, eager to ‘beta kiss,’ as he’d been calling it. Any actual beta would doubtlessly be repulsed by the way Severin’s tongue invaded Richard’s mouth, but the way Richard stood on his toes, squirming so beautifully against him, was all Severin needed for ‘beta kissing’ to become his new favorite thing. 

When they finally managed to pull apart from one another, Richard sighed and rested his head against Severin’s middle. Severin interlaced his fingers with Richard’s and said, “You okay, kitten?” 

Richard looked down. “I’m scared you won’t like it.” 

“The show?” Severin asked. 

Richard nodded, a little glumly. 

“Aw, Richard. I’m going to love it. Don’t worry.” There was something delicious, though, about witnessing Richard’s unguarded need for Severin’s approval. 

“Come on,” Severin said, taking Richard’s chin in his hand so that Richard had to look up. “Wear your best smile. You have a show to kill.” 

  


The theatre, even while people were finding their places, was eerily dark. The curtain was already open, and a dark blue light simultaneously illuminated the stage and spread the darkness further. 

The show began abruptly, unusually. Parts of the audience were still murmuring as one omega and a beta entered the stage, silhouettes against the light. 

Richard wasn’t on yet. Severin felt that the show would not truly begin, not for him, until he saw Richard perform. 

The omega came closer to the edge of the stage, looking out at the crowd. A white spotlight popped on. He had big, blue eyes and a snub English nose. He was cute, in the proper way Severin didn’t really like.

“I’m so excited,” he said. “This really is a glorious day, don’t you think? Yes, I – I know it’s raining. It always rains in London, but we like that. Don’t we? It’s cleansing, I think. I think it’s cleansing.” 

First lines delivered. Those were always the most exciting, the definitive setters for the mood of the play. In this case, the omega sounded young, naïve, overeager. This play, Severin knew, was going to be a romance between a young, naïve, and overeager omega and his protective alpha. 

Severin wasn’t sure where Richard’s role came in, although he’d thought Richard was one of the stars. 

Unless this omega wasn’t the omegic romantic lead, of course. 

The shadowed beta stepped his way forward to the stage. The crowd could see his features, now. 

Brown hair slicked back. Brown eyes – oversized, naturally, but he blinked them dully, slowly, as if not to bring attention to it. A small, beautiful mouth, which even from afar Severin desperately itched to kiss. 

No wonder Richard hadn’t shown Severin his costume. In big boots and well-designed clothes, which fit him but were made to look expansive, to reach outwards, Richard was startlingly beta-sized. 

And then he opened his mouth, to speak. 

Severin saw him part his lips, wet his tongue, take a breath, eyes flitting over the crowd, scanning over heads, all in slow motion. Severin sat still in his seat, consciously registering that these were the first, special lines which Severin would ever hear Richard perform. 

When Severin first met Richard, Richard had been in heat. And Severin, too, had been out-of-control, immediately feeling a need for Richard, a bond to him which never disappeared. But with each word spoken now – 

With each word, it was like Severin was falling in love. 

Slowly. Each word lasted ages to Severin, because he savored every syllable, the lovely lilt of Richard’s accent, the unexpected tone his experienced actor’s voice took on. 

Richard had never seemed so powerful to him, so obviously skilled and special. This was his forte, this was what he was _good_ at. And Severin was allowed to sit here, amongst the audience, and bask in it. Feed off of the swelling pride he felt for the most talented omega in the world. 

He played the alpha romantic lead. There were only two characters in the show. Normally English plays didn’t feature alphas at all, except for special propaganda features such as this one. Only omegas acted in England, and it was comical for an omega to pretend to be an alpha. 

There was nothing laughable about Richard’s performance. 

He gave hints: a slight deepness to his voice, a newfound confidence in every gesture he made, every movement. His light, unsure way of speaking, his occasional, insecure stutter all vanished, concealed deep beneath the mask of an alpha who knew what he was doing. 

Richard knew what he was doing. Severin never felt like the two of them had had so much in common before. The _years_ of work Richard must have put into his craft to get this good – it wasn’t the army, or training, or combat, but it had taken hard work and Severin could relate to that. 

Some of Richard’s gestures, Severin thought, resembled his own. He wondered if – almost hoped – that Richard had observed him while developing his alphic veneer. 

The play itself was made lively only by Richard’s creative interpretations. It was otherwise just another, standard propaganda piece. A young omega and alpha fell in love, the alpha was drafted into war – intermission. As Severin stretched his legs during intermission, he knew how the play would end. How all these soppy English plays ended: The omega and alpha, although sad to part, would mutually decide that to serve their country was better than to be together. Sometimes the audience would stay with the omega until the omega found another alpha, or sometimes the audience would get to see the alpha’s honors and ribbons – the military life of a hero playing out before them, more glorious than love. 

Propaganda. 

  


The play began again. The entire show had been leading to this moment: It was time for little Richard to go to war. 

Severin waited for the bittersweet goodbye kisses, the mutual acceptance, for a long monologue from one of them about the importance of serving the Queen. 

There was no dialogue. Instead, music played, music which would have drowned out any words the actors had to say. 

Neither actors spoke. They did not kiss or hug. The music cried out, tremulous and sad. 

Richard walked off the stage. The omega was left on his own. 

Was that it? Was that their great parting? The climax of the play was Richard walking off the stage (presumably to go to war)? 

The music stopped, mid-note. 

The omega fell to his knees. 

He released a great, omegic, blood-curdling scream. 

Severin ducked, covered his ears. The scream didn’t end. It echoed throughout the theatre, terrible to listen to. The omega was crying, sobbing. Several alphas in the audience stood, as if they’d mixed up the play with reality and wanted to comfort him. 

Eventually, he too ran off the stage. 

Severin inhaled; hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath. He felt sick, squeamish. Wanted to take that poor, broken omega into his arms – but no. He was an actor. Where was Richard? He wanted to see – 

War drums began. A steady sound; the very same beat to which Severin had marched countless times. 

Out came one small soldier, marching on his lonesome, in rhythm, in oversized camouflage, the mix of grays and blacks that would hide an English soldier amongst the buildings of Paris. 

He marched right, marched right, marched right – halted. Center stage. Turned forward. Eyes glazed the crowd – no, there was no crowd. There was him. War. 

Richard’s eyes. 

How could an omega make eyes like that? 

They contained none of Richard’s usual brightness. Instead, a familiar mixture of fear and boredom washed over them. Fear and boredom in turns, rocking back between each other like a boat on the Seine, in and out, out and in, switching and mingling until the two emotions became indistinguishable from one another. Flashes of other emotions as unseen battlefield events were hinted at, left for the crowd to imagine – of pity, here – for some fallen comrade? For the helpless enemy? Guilt and self-revile and rage. Fascination. 

Every emotion Severin had ever felt on the battlefield was there in Richard’s eyes. That was acting: the display of emotions. It was, perhaps, not so hard to look enraged, to look dulled by time. What made it an exact mirror for Severin, an accomplishment that went above great acting, was the way, beneath each separate emotion, there lay an oblique anger, a dull undertone that could be seen if one gazed closely enough. 

The numb, default rage of the drafted soldier. Flashes of horror –of pain. Beneath it, always, beneath the boredom and the dread – anger. Where had Richard learned the emotional spectrum of war? 

The sound of the drums continued, beating ever on as Richard continued to march, through his life, through the military, through countless unseen battles and days and nights and days, and – 

A sudden, loud bang rang out through the theatre. 

Severin ducked and covered his head, to dodge a bullet that he knew, somehow, wasn’t real. 

He watched in horror as Richard fell to his knees. There’d been a gun in his belt – Severin hadn’t even noticed, so intent had he been on Richard’s eyes. The gun was now out, at his side. Had been in his mouth, placed there and fired so quickly, with such little ado, that Severin had barely registered it. 

Richard fell on his back. His chest was heaving, his heart bleeding, bursting through his skin. He was dying in real time, the audience holding its breath. The drums were still pounding. 

  


The stage went black. 

* * * * 

Severin wouldn’t let Richard go. He hadn’t even changed out of his camouflage uniform yet, but Severin held him close, couldn’t stop stroking his hair, his back. 

“Did you like it?” Richard’s voice was muffled from being pressed against Severin’s middle. 

“Of course, Richard. Of course,” Severin breathed, although part of him was still recovering from the sight of his omega’s body on the stage. There hadn’t been any fake blood or anything overly graphic, but Richard’s performance had been so real, the pivotal moment so intense. It was hard for an omega’s alpha to watch that. “Why do you sound so nervous? You really thought I wouldn’t?” 

“You don’t like propaganda…” Richard said. 

Severin finally pulled back, looking in Richard’s eyes and laughing. 

“Richard,” he said. “I’m tired of bullshit stories about English people who love their Queen more than their mates. It makes me sick. This story – this play – ” 

He frowned. Thought of something. 

“Richard,” he said. “Richard, you died in this play.” 

“I committed suicide,” Richard said, as if he thought perhaps Severin hadn’t been watching. 

“Richard, you’re an omega,” Severin said, urgently. He wrapped his arm around Richard as if to shield him. 

“Uh-huh,” Richard said. 

“Kitten…” Severin glanced at the dressing room door. “Omegas aren’t allowed to die on stage. Not in the English theatre. Not even if they’re pretending to be betas, or alphas. Don’t all actors know this? Who directed this – Inge? Surely she knows this? Richard, kitten, if someone from the government was watching, and they’re always watching – ” 

“Severin, shh,” Richard said, putting a finger on Severin’s lips. “Of course I know that. Omegas are too precious to be depicted dying.” Richard crinkled his nose. “The play will probably be banned after tonight. That’s why I invited you on _opening_ night. It’s the only night we’ll have.” 

“But Richard,” Severin said urgently. “Richard, you could be arrested – ” 

“Not me,” said Richard. “They would never arrest an omega. Let alone a…a famous one.” 

“Inge, then,” Severin said. 

And now, to Severin’s surprise, Richard smiled. 

“If any alphas or betas had worked on this play,” Richard said, “they’d be arrested for expressing anti-war sentiments. You can’t have a violent death be portrayed by an omega. But A. Inge didn’t direct this.”

“Who did?” Severin asked. 

Richard’s smile broadened. “O. Tani.” 

* * * *

An alley. The smell of old rain, of brick dust. The weak moonlight that couldn’t quite make it between two buildings. Richard’s shadow pressed up against the brick wall, at the alley’s end, soft and solid between Severin’s hands. Away from streetlights. The magnificent shine of Richard’s eyes, defying darkness, impossibly beautiful. His purr, his nervous breaths, quickening as Severin pulled him out of his sweater. 

“We should wait until we get home,” Richard kept saying. “We’re too close to the theatre – ” 

Severin pressed kisses against his lips, his cheeks. Above those beautiful eyes, down his temple, down his jaw, to his neck. 

Richard cried out, clutching Severin. He shook so violently that for a moment Severin thought his simple peck to the neck had caused Richard to come. 

It hadn’t, not quite. Richard was left panting, though. Doubtlessly, if Severin could see them, his lips would be parted deliciously. 

“Please,” Richard breathed. “A…again, please.” 

Severin chuckled, but he didn’t go in for Richard’s neck again. He hadn’t really meant to the first time – it’d been a lapse of control. 

“That was a special reward for your acting tonight,” Severin said. No need to admit that if he went in for Richard’s neck again, it would inevitably turn into a bite. 

Richard scrambled forward. At first Severin didn’t know what he wanted, but then he felt Richard’s light fingers on his trousers. Searching for his zipper. 

“Richard,” Severin said warningly. He went ignored, of course. Richard found his button, undid it. 

“Richard, stop it,” Severin whispered. 

“I want to make you feel good,” Richard insisted. 

“Come on, tonight was your performance,” Severin said. “I want – ” 

“No.” Severin was surprised by the sternness in Richard’s voice. “I couldn’t have played that role without you, Severin. You make me better. You make me so much better.” 

Those words left Severin momentarily dazed. 

“I’ll never be as brave as you are, of course.” Severin didn’t disagree. “But I can make you feel good.” 

Severin was about to put his hands over Richard’s, forcing him to stop before he unzipped Severin’s trousers. Then he heard a sound. 

He knew that sound, had heard it a few times before: A squeak, like a bunny caught by a cat. But louder than a bunny could ever be, because it was produced by a human. An omega. 

An omega was hurt. 

Severin thought absurdly for a moment that it was Richard, and he ducked down, reached out, trying to see where Richard was injured. But no, of course – it’d sounded _behind_ him – 

Severin was down the alley in half a second. 

Two alphas. One omega. 

“Look, you’ve got the omega squealing,” one of the alphas guffawed. He stood apart as the second alpha, a teenager, ripped the omega from her white lab coat. 

She struggled as her sleeves tore, cried out as the coat fell to the ground, was kicked in the mud. 

“Yeah, but the stupid omega needs to _stop,_ before people _hear – ”_

Severin came from behind. Picked the second alpha up by his throat and slammed him into the wall. 

Once free, the omega ran. She stumbled at first, and would have been caught by the first alpha – 

If Severin hadn’t punched him, hard, in the back of the head. He dropped like a broken marionette, strings snapped. 

Severin turned to the second. He was against the alley wall, touching the back of his head like it must be bleeding. 

“What the hell are you doing?” the teenager asked angrily. 

For a moment Severin blinked, surprised that an alpha hurting an omega should be asking _him_ what _he_ was doing when he stopped it. 

“I’m calling the cops,” Severin said, reaching for his phone. “I can’t believe what I just saw. How old are you – fifteen?” 

“Yeah,” said the teenager roughly, standing straighter now, like he wanted to compete with Severin’s height. The teenager was big, built, but had nothing on Severin. 

“Christ. Is that how your parents taught you to treat omegas? Your teachers? What the fuck do you think you were doing?” Severin wasn’t sure how he was even getting the words out. There was bile in his throat – he felt sick. Witnessing an alpha hurt an omega was so unnatural, so unclean. The boy was an abomination. 

The boy gave a bitter laugh. “Fuck my teachers. Why the fuck should I care? I’m gonna give my life for that omega one day.” He pointed down the street, where the poor omega had run. “She owes me one.” 

“Jesus. Omegas don’t owe you anything. You’re just a boy, you don’t understand. In three years it’ll be your job to protect them. It’s your duty – ” 

“Three years?” The boy snorted. “Try two months.” 

“What?” Severin asked blankly. 

“My sixteenth birthday. Or haven’t you heard, old man? The Queen’s just dropped the drafting age.” 

“Sixteen…” Severin said numbly. The age seemed so much younger than eighteen, and eighteen had never seemed exactly old. 

“Get with it, old man. I’m gonna leave school to _protect_ omegas like that? Then they can at least give me a good time before I go.” 

The way he said the word ‘omega,’ like it was something dirty, like he _hated_ omegas. It wasn’t right, wasn’t normal. All the soldiers Severin had ever known had always cherished the very word, always treated omegas properly, like the tiny, precious creatures they were. 

“I feel bad for you, son,” Severin said. “This is a fucked up world and none of us asked to live in it. But that omega doesn’t owe you a god damned thing. No one does.” 

He put his phone away. He didn’t feel like calling the police, suddenly. He took a step back. 

The boy exhaled, and for the first time Severin realized how scared he’d been. A criminal record could result in anything. Jail time – an early draft. The boy’s days were numbered, but he wanted to at least be able to count on that number dwindling in a steady, predictable way. 

Severin lunged forward. 

He took the boy up by his neck and squeezed. 

“You ever fucking hurt an omega again,” he growled, “and you’ll fucking pay for it. You think they tolerate shit like that in the army? That’s French-type shit you were just pulling, boy. They’d have your fucking head for that. You understand?” 

The boy couldn’t breathe beneath Severin’s grasp, but once he realized Severin wasn’t releasing him, he croaked, “Crystal, sir.” 

Severin let go. The boy fell to the ground, coughing. 

“It better be,” Severin said roughly. Then he looked around, pushing the boy from his mind, and tried to see where Richard and the other omega were. 

  


He found Richard and the other omega down the street. Richard had wrapped his sweater around her, although Severin saw that she was wearing at least a few of her own. Her coat had been ruined, though. 

“Do you want me to go back and get your coat?” Severin asked. 

“O-oh! G-goodness, no.” She laughed nervously. Severin thought she was holding up very well, for an omega. “I’ve got loads of those back at the hospital.” 

“Hospital?” Was she injured? 

“Where I work,” she said. “I’m a histopathologist. I guess I shouldn’t have been walking back home so late, and not in a bright, white lab coat like that. Kind of – kind of attracted attention.” She laughed again, still nervously. “But we just got this awful lot of post-mortems, and I – I had work for hours. They ship all the bodies here, you know, to London. From France, I mean. Not – not the French ones. The English ones. Not the Irish ones, either. Just – just – well, maybe just the Londoners, now that I think of it. Just the London alphas. And I have to say.” Nervous laugh. “I like the alphas quite a bit better when they’re dead, don’t you?” 

From the glow of a streetlight Severin watched as the omega’s smile faded and she looked up, horrified, as she processed her own words. 

“Not that I want you dead!” she hurried. “Th-thank you.” She turned to Richard. “And you, too. Thank you both.” 

Severin smiled. She was a funny little thing. Had she said she was a doctor? He’d never met an omega doctor before, although he of course knew they existed. Didn’t really like the thought of a little omega pushing themselves through medical school (although perhaps professors made it easier for them somehow?) and wasn’t sure how he felt about an omega having to deal with dead bodies, but he supposed it was okay. 

“It wasn’t a problem,” he assured. His voice took on the deep tone that always seemed to calm Richard when he was shaken up. “Can Richard and I walk you home?” 

“Who’s Richard?” she asked, looking down in the direction of the alley, as if she expected her attacker to come waltzing back to take her home. 

“He means me,” Richie spoke up. 

“O. Richie. Oh – oh! Richard. Of course. Right. Yes, please, that’d be wonderful. My name’s Molly, by the way.” 

Margaret? he couldn’t help wonder, although he’d use her omega name.

“Severin,” Severin said. He followed behind Molly and Richard. Molly led them back to her flat. Richard was amazing – wrapping his arm around Molly, talking about lots of silly, little things that seemed to calm her down. Severin felt like a quiet, protective shadow. 

Once they got to her flat, she invited them in for tea. It was late by now – the sun would rise in not too long. But he and Richard agreed that she wasn’t ready to be alone yet. 

It wasn’t until the tea had been served and they were all settled down that Molly made any mention of the attack at all. 

“You’re so kind, for an alpha,” she said, turning to Severin. “And so polite, too.” 

Severin frowned. Weren’t all alphas kind and polite to omegas? Not those boys, of course, but…

Severin wasn’t sure what to say, but at that moment Richard’s phone went off. Severin looked at him curiously, wondering who’d call at this time. O. Tani, maybe? Or his brother. 

Richard shrugged at the unspoken question. “It’s a restricted number,” he whispered. “Excuse me, please, O. Molly.” 

Molly nodded and Richard took his phone out into the hall. After a few seconds Severin heard low murmuring. 

Molly continued, no longer expecting a response from Severin. 

“I don’t work with so many alphas, of course. I only know one or two or three – five or so. But all the alphas I know are horribly rude. Have you ever heard of Sherlock Holmes?” 

“No,” Severin said, shaking his head. 

“He’s atrocious. It’s the younger alphas who are supposed to be that way, these days, but he’s just like them. Not – not violent. But so inconsiderate. You’d think he was twelve.” 

Severin had the distinct feeling she was interested in the alpha Sherlock Holmes, but he was more interested in something else she was saying. 

“What do you mean, about the younger alphas?” he asked. “The alphas like the ones from tonight can’t be common, can they?” 

“Of course they are,” Molly said, as if Severin had missed something very obvious. “The streets aren’t safe for omegas anymore.” 

Severin looked at her blankly. 

“Well, it’s a bit obvious, if you ask me,” she said. “A war can only go on for so long, but no one knows when this one will end. We’re shipping over our next generation of alphas and they’re – they’re coming back in body bags. I see them every day,” she said softly. “The Queen can only tell young alphas to fight for their omegas for so long, before some resentment builds. Before young alphas begin to think it’s _our_ fault,” she gestured towards herself and Richard, out in hall, “that the war’s gone on so long.” 

“That’s ridiculous,” Severin said. “There are hardly any omegas involved in politics. Omegas aren’t making these decisions.” 

Molly shrugged. “I’m just glad they lowered the age to sixteen. I want the alphas out of London as quickly as possible.” 

Severin had a sudden flash from when he’d been eighteen and drafted. His flight to Paris: no one speaking, he sitting with his hands in his lap and hoping they’d never land. Hoping he’d never have to move his body again. Hoping they’d crash, hoping he’d be shot and killed as soon as he stepped off the plane, just so that he’d never have to think about how he’d be away from his brother and friends for the next twenty years. 

Twenty-two years, now. 

It made all the difference. 

Severin held his tongue.

  


When Severin opened his eyes to the morning light, he found himself looking at a bedside table cramped with lace doilies and glass kittens. It took several seconds before he remembered how they’d kept talking, he and Richard and Molly, until finally Molly admitted that she couldn’t bear to be alone quite yet. He and Richard had stayed, and they’d all settled in her bed. Molly had been on the end, between the wall and Richard, who hugged her fiercely, while Severin spooned Richard.

Severin turned over, putting out his arm sleepily to wrap around his omega again. 

He touched blanket. One of Molly’s patched up quilts.

He opened his eyes. At the other end of the bed Molly slept. No one lay between them. 

Severin swung his legs off the bed, standing. 

“Richard?” he called. He walked throughout the house, although he could already feel it, already sense the emptiness of it, like he’d woken to find his thumbs missing, or some other, essential part of him. “Richard?” 

No one answered. Richard was gone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't even tell if the play sequence makes sense. *bangs head against wall*


	12. Four

“…If you’re making an urgent professional call, please contact my agent.” 

_Beeeeeep._

“Hey, Richard. It’s me again. Please call me back as soon as you can.” Call ended. 

Severin thought he stuck to his plan rather well: Concise message, nonchalant tone. Perfectly alphic. 

His actual plan had been not to call Richard at all, though. Molly Hooper called Severin every day to see if he’d heard from Richard. She was very concerned, and had grown doubly concerned once she realized she’d slept in the same bed as _the_ O. Richie Brook, only to have him disappear from her flat by morning. 

Severin knew there was nothing wrong. It wasn’t like someone had dragged Richard out of her flat. Severin had been there with him, and Richard knew how easily he was awoken. Which meant that for Richard to leave, he would have had to sneak out, quietly and intentionally. 

As far as Severin was concerned, that meant one thing: _We’re through._

An omega’s way of breaking up. No conversation, of course. No note. No conflict. Just a few too many times that Severin didn’t want to show Richard his body, maybe. That was the only thing Severin could think of that would make Richard want to leave him. 

It’d only been four days. Richard could still call back and, until then, Severin would keep himself distracted. For a full week, he decided. After a week, he would accept that their relationship was well and truly over. He wasn’t sure what he’d do after that. Or how he’d feel. 

He knew exactly how he’d feel. 

In the meantime, he numbed himself. Put his feelings on hold. He’d considered visiting Sebastian, at first, but he wasn’t sure if Richard would be home. Mostly he’d just stayed inside, reading Richard’s books. 

Suddenly there was a knock on the door. 

Severin stood from the couch and opened the door. For a second he thought it was Richard. 

“Where is he?” demanded James, striding past Severin without waiting for an answer. 

“He’s not here,” Severin said, but James clearly wasn’t listening. He was dressed for work, in a navy blue suit, and carried a cardboard box in his arms. He was breathing heavily and, after scanning the living room in a rush and finding it Richard-less, he strode down the hallway. 

He kicked open the first door, which led to an office Severin never used. 

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t do that,” Severin said, but James genuinely didn’t appear to hear him. He was already making his way to the bedroom. 

Severin waited in the bedroom doorway, watching warily as James checked the bathroom, came back, began swinging open closet doors and ducking to check under the bed. He was a mass of impatient energy. 

James, satisfied that his brother wasn’t hiding inside one of Severin’s pillowcases, made to leave the room. Severin blocked the doorway. 

“He’s not here, James,” Severin said. 

Finally, James acknowledged him. 

“When is he coming back?” James said. 

“I don’t – ” 

“When?” James repeated. “If you don’t tell me, I’ll – ” 

“Stop it,” Severin said, forcing himself to be calm. James was getting red in the face. “I don’t know where he is, and I don’t know when he’s coming back. But I am concerned, now, because I assumed he was with you.” 

Assumed Richard had left him for good. Assumed Richard wanted his brother more than he would ever want Severin.

James stared at Severin, and Severin experienced the disturbing sensation of being scanned, as if by an emotion-reading robot. Evidently James sensed the sincerity in Severin’s words.

“Why didn’t you call me?” James asked. His voice, so filled with anger before, became strangely blank.

“Call you?” Severin said incredulously, as if James wanted to know why he hadn’t decided to sign up for the army again.

“If he’s missing, you should have called me. Or Seb. Told one of us. Let – let me know.” Severin had never heard James stutter before. It seemed weirdly omegic. “Where my brother is. Isn’t. Where – that he’s missing.”

He sounded so empty. 

“You really thought he was here?” Severin asked, gently. He surprised himself with his softened tone of voice, but he supposed he couldn’t help it. James was still an omega, and he was clearly upset.

“I thought he left,” James said. His voice cracked. With emotion? What emotion? Severin couldn’t tell; James was too unreadable. 

James continued: “Left for the alpha – for you – stupid _alpha.”_ James looked up at Severin with livid, omegic eyes. 

Oh. 

_Oh._

Severin understood. 

In a single motion he was on his knees and had James in his arms. 

“It’s alright,” Severin said. “Shh. It’s okay. I don’t know where Richard is, but he’s not here. He’s not here, James.” 

James wasn’t crying, exactly. That’d be far too omegic for him. But it was like he’d forgotten himself, forgotten what he wanted to present to the world. He didn’t cling to Severin in the way Richard would, but he allowed Severin to hold and anchor him. Allowed himself to be reassured that his precious, beloved brother had not left him for a true alpha, for something James could never be. 

“Richard adores you, James. He’s completely devoted to you – to you more than me. He’ll never love me as much as he loves you,” Severin continued. He was hugging James so tight that he couldn’t see James’s face, but James didn’t move. He seemed to be listening. “He left me, not you. He left while I was sleeping, and I haven’t seen him since. I really don’t know where he is, James.” 

“Why do you call me James?” The question was so sudden that Severin paused. 

He answered, pulling away, “That’s what you want to be called. Isn’t it?” 

James’s face was red, as if he had been holding back tears. Severin wanted to hug him again, but expected he’d be rejected this time. He didn’t understand James, but he knew _exactly_ what it was like to feel that Richard, the omega he loved, loved someone more than him. 

“But why would an alpha call me that?” James mused, as if to himself. “The only true alpha, out of the four brothers, would want to make a point of having an alphic name."

_The four brothers._ James said it like it was a familiar phrase to him, like that was the way James always thought of Severin, Sebastian, Richard, and himself. Severin never thought of them as a unit like that, but he was more surprised to realize that James did. He hadn’t thought he occupied that much space in James’s thoughts. 

“I hate being an alpha,” Severin answered, flatly and honestly. “I never wanted to go to war, I hate getting a big, fat check in the mail every month when I know our government’s going bankrupt, and I despise anyone who thinks I’m practically half-beast just because of my gender. Which would be everyone, basically. Except Richard. 

“And,” he added, voice rising, “speaking of Richard, I hate that every time he’s near I just want to bite his neck, like I really _am_ an animal. And I hate even more that he doesn’t want me to. So no, I don’t like being the only true alpha. I’d much rather it be you. Or Sebastian – he was the one who wanted to go to war growing up.” 

James looked at him for so long, without saying anything, that it was unnerving. When Severin watched closely, he realized that James’s neck was moving, ever so slightly, shifting his head back and forth like a snake in a trance. 

“You think that Richie doesn’t want to mate with you.” Not a question, but there was a certain curiosity in his voice. 

Severin clenched his fist. Was James mocking him? He thought it was funny that Severin should ever dream of being good enough to deserve Richard’s commitment? 

“Fuck you,” he growled, defensively. 

James’s eyes flashed playfully. “My, my,” he said softly. “This is a sensitive topic for you.” 

“It’s not,” Severin snapped. “I know he doesn’t want to mate. I know _you_ don’t want him to mate. And mating isn’t important to me, anyway, so I don’t care.” 

“Our little Richie wants to mate more than anything in the world,” James said. He noted Severin’s surprise and said, “Oh, yes. He was one of those few who knew his gender before he ever went through puberty. He was always getting the bigger kids to mock-bite his neck on the playground. He had the older, alphic kids in love with him before he even presented. He used to do all of my chores for me. Not because I asked – he wanted to. Wanted to be a little omega in training. It used to terrify me. I was so sure I’d be an alpha, but I was also positive Richie was born to be an omega. And twins are so rarely different genders.” James’s knuckles were white around his box, although his bottomless eyes were lightless and bored. 

“So he wanted to mate as a kid,” Severin said. “But he clearly changed his mind.” He saw James open his mouth to object, and he said, “Or maybe he still wants to mate. Just not with me.” There wasn’t a chance of hiding the bitterness in his voice. 

James chuckled. “You’re so stupid.” 

“What?” Severin said. 

“My brother would give anything to mate with you. You’re all he wants.” James’s voice was cold, not teasing, which meant he was telling the truth. Probably. 

Severin swallowed. “That doesn’t make any sense,” he objected. “He’s told me so many times that I should never, absolutely _never_ bite him.” 

“Yes. He’s telling you that for now. He’ll stop telling you that, eventually. He’ll want to mate sooner or later.” James shrugged, as if it made little difference to him. 

“Why would he resist at all?” 

“He does love me almost as much as he loves you, alpha,” James said. “Before you came along, I was the closest thing he had to his perfect, alphic mate. I was good enough for him, back then. It’ll take time for him to realize I’m now inadequate.” 

“He doesn’t have to give you up,” Severin said quickly. As if, by convincing James that this could work, he’d be convincing Richard, too. “I’m not jealous. At least – I wouldn’t get jealous of you. Or Sebastian, either. Hell. We could all live together, I don’t care. I could get a bigger place. You two can be together whenever – ” 

“You know how to read, don’t you?” It sounded like a genuine question, rather than an insult. Which was more insulting, really – that James thought it possible Severin was illiterate. 

“Yes,” Severin said coldly. 

“But you didn’t get British newspapers in Paris?” James asked. 

“No,” Severin said. 

James nodded. “And Richie never told you why he wouldn’t mate with you.” 

“That hardly needs spelling out,” Severin said, looking down. 

“If he ever mates, he has to leave me,” James said. “Forever. We would never see each other again.” 

Severin looked back up. “What do you mean?” 

“It’s the law,” James said. “For almost fifteen years now. It was massively protested at first, but it only affects omegas, and omegas don’t have much of a political voice. It’s simply the norm, now. If one omegic sibling mates, the other omegic sibling or siblings will never hear from their mated kin again.” 

Severin’s first, knee-jerk reaction: “I don’t believe you.” 

“Look it up one day,” James said. “The Distraction Prevention Act. DPA. Omegic siblings are incestuous by nature, you know. The government wouldn’t want that to ever distract us from having children with our mates.” James curled smile looked laced with arsenic. 

“That’s…” ‘Gross’ was the word that came to mind, but, when he thought of someone like Richard having to choose between starting a family or keeping his existing family, Severin clenched his fist. “I mean, that hurts omegas. That actually _hurts_ them,” Severin said. He remembered Dr. Tanaka from the government-run clinic, urging him to mate. “They only want us to mate so that we’ll produce alphas for the war, but we’re fighting that war to help omegas. We’re supposed to be protecting them.” 

“You’re very simple, Severin Moran,” James said, blinking at him with slow-falling eyelids, playing bored. 

_”You’re_ not simple,” Severin said. He took pleasure in surprising James, although James was quick to hide it. “You could figure out some way for Richard to evade the law.” He couldn’t believe he was suggesting something illegal, but he was desperate. “You both live in London. You could run into each other, by accident. Or make it look like an accident.” 

James shook his head. “That’s not how it works.” 

“How does it work?” Severin said. 

“I don’t know,” James said. “I’m not sure what they do, but something is done. Threats, maybe. Brainwashing, possibly. But if you would like to see it in action, then the next time you see Richie’s little omegic actor friend – what is her name? Tani? Tani just mated, yes?” 

Severin nodded. 

James said, “Ask Tani about her sister, Mali. They were very close before Tani’s mating.” 

Severin wasn’t entirely sure what that was supposed to mean. The atmosphere in the flat was eerie, but he felt lighter than he’d felt in ages. If James said Richard wanted to mate with him, then he was right. James wouldn’t lie about that, because he obviously wished Richard had no interest in Severin. 

Richard wanting to mate with Severin was more important to Severin than the actual mating. Because if Richard wanted to spend his life with Severin, then, mating or no mating, he would. 

When James spoke next, he was all business: “I’m going back to work. When Richie returns from wherever he is, he’s going to come to your flat first,” James said. “When he does, call me. Immediately. And take this.” 

He shoved his box in Severin’s hands. 

“It has one of his blankets, his clothes, his favorite books, the bubble bath soap he likes, and his favorite morning tea. Make him tea in the mornings. He likes that.” 

“You brought over his things,” Severin said. 

“Yes.” James blinked, and there was an enormous amount of condescension in that blink. “Yes, I just told you that.” 

“You thought he was moving in here,” Severin said. 

“I told you that earlier as well, yes,” James said. “Move out of my way. I’m leaving now.” 

Severin stepped aside, still in mild shock. Not only had James seriously believed that Richard had left him for Severin, but James had _accepted_ it. He’d brought over Richard’s favorite things, to make moving in easier. It was such a touching, brotherly thing to do. It seemed uncharacteristic. 

But maybe Severin had judged too soon. There were a lot of things, after all, that he didn’t know about James. 

“Hey, James,” he called, just before James left through the front door. 

James sighed dramatically and checked his watch. “Yes, alpha?” 

“What is your work, exactly? Richard and Sebastian always talk about it, but no one’s ever told me what it is.” 

James tilted his head, a ghost of his earlier, reptilian motions. Severin didn’t like the eerie smile that flickered across his thin lips. “I’d tell you, dear alpha. But then I would have to kill you.” 

He gave a gleeful laugh – there was something about the cliché which he seemed to find hysterical. Then he was out the door. 

Severin waited ten seconds after the door closed before he went back onto the couch. He swung his legs over the armrest and lay back, grinning at the ceiling. 

Richard wanted to mate with him. 

Wherever he was, Richard wanted to mate with him. 

And of course Severin wanted to know where he was, and wanted to be assured that he was safe, but above all, he couldn’t stop laughing. Literally giggling, an echo of James. 

_Richard wanted to mate with him._


	13. Shower

On the sixth day, Severin was finally forced out of his flat by the necessity of a nurse’s appointment. He told himself he would have left eventually regardless, but the ache building up between his legs – like a sore, tension-filled bruise – was valid reason enough. 

The sun shone over London, although the air had a nip to it. Severin wasn’t generally sensitive to the cold, but when he saw Richard walking down the street, hugging his coat tight around himself, Severin swore he felt goose bumps. 

“Richard,” he called, too quietly for Richard to hear. 

“Richard!” He ran towards him, and the little omega looked up and ran towards Severin. They met halfway, Severin scooping Richard up into his arms. Richard wrapped his legs around Severin’s waist, his head against Severin’s left shoulder. 

Neither of them spoke. Severin turned around. Why had he left the flat again? To meet Richard, probably. Probably he’d sensed him walking. 

Severin didn’t let Richard go as he retrieved his keys from his pocket, unlocked his door, pushed it open, and kicked it closed again. He finally set Richard down on his bed, and Severin was atop of him in a second. 

They didn't push off their shoes, so their soles dirtied the sheets as their lips met. Severin felt a pure energy coursing through him to Richard, from Richard to him. Their connection. Severin still suspected it was a soul bond, although he didn’t voice this to Richard. He was voiceless, speechless, could do nothing but kiss Richard. 

Richard. 

Home, again. 

Perhaps six days wouldn’t have seemed so hellishly long if Severin had just known where he was, known that he was coming back. Severin had survived twenty years because he’d had an end date in mind, after all. With Richard, he no longer knew what was going to happen next, when the little omega might leave him again. He was helpless. 

All he could do was be here now. Kissing Richard. 

He was too frenzied to kiss just Richard’s mouth. His lips moved down to Richard’s chin, brushed his cheeks. He nipped at both of Richard’s ears, tongue outlining his earlobes. He let Richard return the kisses with equal fervor, Richard’s little, wet mouth sucking on his bottom lip, pecking his jawline. It was rare Richard ever showed such initiative, but Severin could feel his half-starved state, his hunger for Severin. 

It was all the reassurance Severin needed. He didn’t need to say anything, didn’t need to ask questions. He could feel that Richard was okay, unhurt. Could feel how much Richard had ached and yearned for him. He wasn’t sure where Richard had gone, but for the moment he didn’t need to know. 

His phone rang. 

Severin growled and reached for his pocket. He screen was lit up and read, _Appointment – 3 P.M._

All at once reality came back to him. Richard or no Richard, the sore ache in his balls wasn’t going to disappear. Without visiting an omega nurse, it was only going to get worse. 

“If I left for two hours – at most – would you still be here when I got back?” Severin asked. He tried to sit up but Richard’s little arms stayed tight around his neck, and Severin didn’t have the heart to unlink them. 

“You’re not leaving.” 

Severin stilled, surprised by Richard’s imperative. 

Richard, too, seemed to have surprised himself. He let go of Severin and sunk shyly back into the pillow he lay on. 

“Please stay?” he tried, seeming to find comfort in his own familiar meekness. 

Severin stroked Richard’s hair, sensing his distress. 

“I’d come right back,” he promised. “Just two hours.” 

If he waited another day, it’d be downright painful. He knew that if he stayed in this bed with Richard for the rest of the day, the day would turn to night, and night to another day. It was Thursday. They may not get out of bed until Sunday. Severin had never waited without release that long before. 

“I’ll go with you,” Richard said. “Please, please let me. Wherever you’re going, I’ll come.” 

“No,” Severin said sternly. “I have a nurse’s appointment.” He avoided Richard’s eyes. “I don’t want you to be in a government-owned clinic. Especially not one for alphas.” 

“Oh…” Richard shivered. Christ, Severin couldn’t believe how exquisite it was to hear that, see that. Richard’s lovely voice. His reactive body. 

Severin wanted to touch him everywhere, not worry about a nurse’s appointment that left him sick with dread. 

“All you need from a nurse’s appointment,” Richard said, “is an omega’s presence, right?” 

“Yes,” Severin said, wary. “Why?” 

Richard smiled in his charming, omegic way. He gestured to himself. “Tah-dah!” 

“Cute, Richard,” Severin said, ruffling his hair. “But I need an omega who’s _not_ you.” 

Because it was only Richard’s opinion that mattered. 

Richard’s eyes widened. His bottom lip wobbled. 

“Oh, no. Come on, Richard,” Severin said, soothingly. “Don’t look so hurt. It has nothing to do with you, Richard. It’s just that…” 

_That I’m an insecure, unalphic piece of shit. If we grew as large as our courage, Richard, I’d be much smaller than you._

“It is about me,” Richard whispered. 

Great. He hadn’t been in Severin’s apartment for a full ten minutes yet, and he was on the verge of tears. Great, Severin. Really good job. 

Richard swallowed. “I’m sorry – ” 

“Don’t be sorry,” Severin interrupted. “You have nothing to apologize for.” 

“I just – I just don’t understand why you won’t let me touch you. See you. I feel like you’re hiding something from me. And – and I know – I know that I’m hiding something from you. So maybe you’re punishing me.” Severin was about to interrupt Richard, but he saw that if he stopped Richard now, Richard would simply dissolve in tears. “And if you _are_ punishing me, then that’s fine. I – I understand. Know that it’s working. So I’ll just stay here while you leave. But please know that I don’t want to hide anything from you. I really, really don’t. I want you to know everything about me. Please – please just know that when I leave, or can’t tell you things, it has nothing to do with you. Really. I promise.” 

Severin cupped Richard’s face between his hands. He leaned down to kiss him, but Richard turned away, saying, “You’ll be late.” 

Severin sighed. 

“It’s not a punishment, Richard,” he said. “I would never punish you for anything. I just…” He paused. “You know what the DPA is, right?” 

Richard’s nose crinkled. His cute, omegic display of anger, Severin supposed. 

“I do,” Richard said. His voice turned a touch harder. “That’s why I wish I were French.” 

“Don’t say that,” Severin said. “The French…” 

He’d been about to say something such as, ‘the French live terrible lives,’ or ‘the French are brutes,’ but he realized that neither of these were true, as far as he knew. The French were what, exactly? 

“The French are our enemies,” he finished. “I only mentioned it because I didn’t know about it.” 

“The Distraction Prevention Act?” Richard asked, lips parting in surprise. 

“Never heard of it before a few days ago,” Severin said. “So when you didn’t want to mate with me, I thought it was because you didn’t want me. Or wanted me – but only in the short term.” 

“Severin.” Such a soft, hurt whisper. “Severin, I want…” 

Severin could feel the plethora of unsaid words. Richard wanted everything from him, to give everything to him. He could feel it. They both could. Richard didn’t have to say a word. 

There was nothing short term about this. 

“I’m going to take a shower,” Severin said, getting up. “I will…need a few minutes. Have you spoken to your brother?” 

Richard blinked, looking guilty. “Uh-oh,” he said. “I came here without thinking.” 

Severin smiled. “He thought you might do that. Call him. And come into the shower after you hang up.” 

The words were said, and Severin couldn’t bring them back. He was officially skipping his appointment. 

  
Severin closed the bathroom door behind himself. When he did, it was like turning up the volume knob of an old radio that always played, in the back of his mind.

_How fast do you think the omega will run when he sees the monster dick you've been dragging around?_

Severin determinedly ignored it and undressed, not looking down. 

_Come on,_ the old supervisor’s voice coaxed. _Take a look. How else will you know if it looks more like a banana slug today, or a huge worm?_

He stepped into the shower and slid back the glass door, enclosing himself in a falsely secure world. Falsely secure because in just a few minutes Richard would be in here, and Severin would be exposed. 

He started the water. 

It came down hot. Unlike at his old base, where the water would come down cold for all but the last few seconds of his shower, finally warming up when he had to leave, the water in his flat never took time to adjust. Steam was already clouding in the shower, sure to fog the mirror in just a few minutes. It didn’t hide him, though. 

Without glancing down, he soaped up his cock. He pulled back his foreskin, cleaned his balls. In his head, his cock was not only oversized, but discolored, appeared infected. He cleaned it and washed off without looking at it once, imagining layers of dirt and crust washing down the drain. 

Maybe seeing Severin’s cock would even be a good thing for Richard. Instead of yearning to mate with Severin, Richard could count his governmental blessings that he would never have to. 

There was a light knock on the door. Considerate Richard. 

“Come in,” Severin called. 

Richard opened and carefully closed the door. Then he paused, looking at Severin’s blurred image through the glass. 

Severin slid the shower door open. Cold air came rushing in. 

“The water’s nice and hot,” he said welcomingly, although he shrank out of view as he said it, stepping behind the glass once more. 

But then Richard was undressing, and Severin realized something. Richard wasn’t just going to see his body. Severin would finally see all of Richard. 

His fingers itched, in mixed anticipation and dread, as he tilted his head beneath the water, wetting his hair. Then Richard stepped in. 

_That dick’s not going to fit into anything, not even a whore’s hole._

But he’d been with whores before. No trouble fitting. They’d seemed to like him just fine. 

Richard gazed into his eyes, and Severin had the sudden, absurd hope that they could stay like this for the rest of the shower. Richard would stand there with his approving smile, gaze politely diverted away from Severin’s cock, and then Severin could get dressed again, Richard still seeing nothing, and that’d be that. Nothing to discuss ever again. 

Then Richard scanned him, up and down. He very deliberately lingered on his cock. 

Severin closed his eyes, breath abated, waiting for Richard’s judgment. 

Richard said nothing. The seconds were passing. 

This wasn’t good. Why wouldn’t Richard speak? Was he too omegic to admit that he couldn’t go through with this? 

Fine. That was fine. Severin would do it for him. Tell him that he wouldn’t be late for his appointment if he took his car. 

Just as Severin opened his mouth to speak, he felt something brush against the length of his cock. 

He looked down. 

Richard was on his knees. His soft head of hair brushed against Severin’s thigh. 

“Richard?” Severin said, genuinely having no idea what was going on. “Richard, are you okay?” 

Richard didn’t say anything. Instead, he got even lower, sinking his head down, hands planted on the floor. He ignored the water that poured over him so that he could… 

Bow.

It looked like he was bowing. Severin could see the outline of his bottom, perfectly fair and round. 

He kissed Severin’s toes, one by one. Severin stood there not knowing what to do, not understanding what was going on inside Richard’s head. Severin’s toes each tingled as Richard’s soft lips brushed them. Afterwards, Richard stayed in his bowing position, only he turned his head, exposing his neck. 

That Severin recognized. 

Submission. 

This was Richard, submitting to him. 

“Richard...” Severin said, bending his knees so that he could touch Richard’s hair. When he did, Richard shivered violently. Severin could clearly see the shiver run down Richard’s body. “Richard, say something.” 

“I don’t know what to say.” Richard’s voice was more omegic, more beautiful, than ever. 

“Tell me what you’re thinking.” Severin meant it as a suggestion, but he was aware that Richard was likely hearing orders. 

“I’ve never felt so omegic in my life,” Richard said. The words wavered at first, but soon tumbled out of him: “You’re so…so alphic. You look like a sculpture, Severin. And I feel so small and I don’t understand why you like me. Why alphas like omegas at all. We’re so tiny and you’re so beautiful. You kind of – you. You’re. You’re…glorious, Severin.” 

Severin was floored. Well, actually, it was Richard on the floor. 

“Funny,” Severin said. “When I look at you, I feel powerless.” 

Severin could see the disbelief in Richard's eyes. 

“It’s true,” Severin said. “Do you know how hypnotic you are? Every time I see you move, or breathe, or even blink – it’s beautiful. All of it. I love looking at you. So don’t say you don’t understand why I like you. Everything you do – everything you _are_ – is why I like you.” 

Richard was still looking up at him. Severin leaned over so that water wouldn’t fall on Richard’s face. 

“I don’t know what to do,” Richard admitted, in a tiny voice. 

“Do whatever you want,” said Severin. 

“I want to suck your cock,” Richard said. If his voice got any smaller, he’d be mute. If he shrunk himself down any further, he’d be laying at Severin’s feet. 

“Do whatever you want,” said Severin again, more insistently. Although there was part of him that felt like Richard was lying. Perhaps Richard merely felt bad for him.

Severin still wasn’t looking much at his own cock, but now he watched. Richard looked up at him once again, as if asking for permission, but then all of his attention was on Severin’s cock. 

Richard’s face left no room for self-consciousness. On it was only awe. Awe was not what Severin had envisioned. At best, he’d hoped for a general indifference. 

But Richard regarded Severin’s cock with parted lips, and then those lips were kissing his cock. 

Severin cried, “Shit!” and backed away. 

The moment Richard’s lips had touched Severin, Severin’s cock had poured a veritable stream of come. It was more, probably, than Severin would have been able to produce in a single appointment. And it’d gotten all over Richard’s mouth. 

Fuck, fuck. As Severin began to stumble out an apology, Richard said, “Turn off the shower. Please!” 

Severin wasn’t sure why. How else was Richard going to wash off? But he’d already offended Richard so much that he raced to do as Richard asked. 

Once the shower was off, Richard licked his lips. Severin’s heart thumped. 

Richard’s pupils grew wide. His irises were thin brims around dilated pupils, eyes practically black. He began to purr, thick and happy and deep in his throat. 

Severin couldn’t move as Richard bent towards his cock again. This time he didn’t kiss, but parted his lips and brushed them over Severin’s tip. Severin had never been sucked off before – it wasn’t something omegas in brothels, in heat, ever wanted to do. Now, however, his cock gushed with so much come that in just a few seconds Richard had to pull off and swallow. Richard held Severin’s cock in both his tiny hands. His head outside of Richard’s mouth, Severin dribbled across Richard’s chest and neck. 

“I’ll turn the shower back on,” Severin tried, reaching for the knob. 

“Please don’t,” Richard said, pouting. 

So Severin stayed still. But after Richard swallowed – more than once – and went for Severin’s cock again, and Severin’s overenthusiastic cock squirted on Richard’s lips before he could even start sucking, Severin pulled back and said, “Sorry, Richard. I can’t help…that. And I think I’m fine, anyway. My cock’s not used to being sucked, so this is more than an appointment would typically accomplish. I’ll be fine.” 

Richard reached out, as if to take his cock. He stopped himself only at the last second, arms falling bonelessly to his sides. 

“Do I have to stop?” Richard asked. Unless Severin was very much mistaken, there was a trace of a whine in Richard’s voice. “I mean… Will it hurt you if I keep going? Because I’ve barely started, and it tastes really, really good.” 

Well, when you put it like that. 

“It tastes good?” Severin asked. As if he thought his come would somehow be different from any of the other times he’d tried it, he swabbed a finger’s worth from his own thigh, where some had dribbled, and popped it into his mouth. 

No. Still salty. 

“It tastes like ambrosia,” Richard said, and he practically panted. His eyes were shining. “Please.” 

“Do what you like,” said Severin. He watched incredulously as Richard was back at his cock. 

Oh, fuck. Richard finally sucked. The suction felt amazing around his head. This time, instead of pulling off of Severin to swallow his come, Richard let the come overflow from his mouth. It drooled and dribbled down his chin, his neck. He swallowed, bringing Severin’s cock deeper into his mouth. 

“Careful, there,” Severin said, as Richard began to gag. “Don’t choke on it.” 

Richard looked up at him, and for one dazzling moment, his dazed, aroused eyes graced Severin’s. Then they were back on his cock. 

Severin watched, trying not to even blink. All of the tension had been erased, replaced with pleasure he hadn’t felt in ages. 

What Richard couldn’t reach with his mouth – which was most of it – he stroked with both his hands. He pulled away, at one point, but kept stroking. Severin’s come shot stripes down Richard’s chest. Severin could tell that there was something about his come – the taste and scent of it – that he definitely wasn’t getting, but that was driving Richard crazy. 

* * * * 

When Richie was a child and his mother took him to church, he’d learned about the land of milk and honey. The omega, Moses, led his people through the desert for forty years before they'd gotten there. _The Land of Milk and Honey._ It’d always sounded so appetizing to Richie. As a child, he’d practically been able to taste it, the sweetest and most delicious milk and honey. 

Severin’s come was like the Holy Land. It was blessed nectar on his tongue. 

When it touched Richie’s body, it was like Severin’s own fingers touched him. He could feel Severin on him, everywhere the come splattered. 

Severin's cock itself was more than Richie had ever dreamt of. And he had certainly dreamt of alphic cocks before - had craved them every time his brother or Seb had sex with him. It smelled clean, was a gorgeous, pinkish color. And although Richie knew he would never have it inside his hole, he also knew that, in theory, it could turn his heats from borderline torturous events to the satisfying, week-long vacations other omegas talked about. He could so easily imagine how good and full it would make him feel. It was the perfect size. 

He kept stroking, kept sucking, but one of his hands released Severin’s cock and reached down. He wanted – needed – to rub the come onto his skin. When he rubbed it against his nipples, he cried out, lips momentarily loose around Severin’s cock. 

He wanted more. He stroked fervently and pulled back. Severin’s come – the endless, wondrous supply of it – hit Richie’s own cock. 

“Oooh. Severin,” Richie cried out. He knew he was moaning ceaselessly, even when he had Severin’s cock in his mouth. He couldn’t help it. This wasn’t anything like sucking off an omega or beta. This was paradise.

He wanted to stroke himself, to rub Severin’s come all over his own cock, but just one of his hands really didn’t cover enough of Severin’s cock. He struggled for a moment, split between rubbing more come on himself and rubbing Severin. Then Severin bent down.

He reached out. He didn’t wrap his whole, alphic hand around Richie’s cock. He only used a few fingers and his thumb, but this was ample. It probably wasn’t very comfortable for him, with the way he had to bend his back, but it allowed Richie to keep stroking Severin with both of his hands. So Richie continued his blowjob.

Severin rubbed Richie’s balls in come, and then Richie widened his legs instinctively, pulling off of Severin’s cock to reposition himself. 

“My hole,” he panted. He wasn’t making sense but he couldn’t help it. It felt too good. He closed his eyes and tried again. “Please. I want come in my hole.” 

Severin listened, both of them bending so that Richie could keep lodged on Severin’s cock while Severin’s index finger felt its way around Richie’s hole. Richie moaned. 

“Fuck, Richie. You sound so gorgeous,” Severin was saying. His finger teased and teased, round and round, until Richie thought he was going to burst from the pleasure of it. Finally he felt the rough pad of Severin’s finger push past his first ring of muscle. He took in too much of Severin’s cock again, gagging, but he really didn’t care. He wanted more. 

He moaned around Severin’s cock, and Severin began to finger-fuck him, in and out. Every so often he’d pull out entirely, collect more come on his finger, and penetrate Richie again. 

The come in his hole made squelching noises. Richie swore he could feel it, could feel it deep inside him. It was certainly dripping down his throat. It was drying around his nipples, making them itch, which was heaven. 

He had the sudden, certain feeling that he was going to come. Which was strange, because while this felt _amazing,_ he also didn’t feel any muscle-squeezing warnings. 

Severin grunted, taking Richie’s hair in his fist. Coming. Even as lost to pleasure as he was, Richie watched as Severin tried hard not to thrust his hips, not to choke Richie. He exerted control over himself through the entire orgasm. 

Richie could still feel Severin’s hard cock in his mouth. Severin had come, but it wasn’t getting softer. 

In fact, Severin felt like he was getting bigger. But how…? 

He was knotting. 

In Richie’s mouth. 

Severin opened his eyes, silently begging Richie not to move. Richie could feel his own heartbeat in his ears, and could feel Severin’s cock throbbing, his knot pressed between Richie’s tongue and the roof of his mouth. A steady trickle of come was flowing down his throat. 

He could see the raw shame on Severin’s face, and wished he could somehow communicate to Severin that it didn’t need to be there. Instead Richie closed his eyes, not wanting Severin’s embarrassment to ruin this moment. 

He felt so connected. 

Richie breathed deeply. He wasn’t sucking, but his mouth still formed a tight suction around Severin’s knotted cock, hopefully suitably emulating a hole. He could stay like this forever, probably. This was as close as he’d ever get to mating with Severin – and right now, it was close enough. 

Time passed. Neither of them moved. Then, inevitably, Severin’s cock began to soften. He released Richie’s hair, and Richie reluctantly pulled away. He hadn’t fully believed Severin when Severin said he could only come when an omega was in heat. And now he was certain it wasn’t true. He wanted to do this again, as soon as possible, wanted Severin’s knot back in his mouth. 

Severin’s finger had stopped fucking Richie’s hole, but now he resumed his rhythm. Almost immediately Richie's body started from where it’d left off. 

_Now_ Richie felt it. 

“I’m gonna…nnngh.” He squirmed, eyes squeezing shut, fists closed. His muscles clenched around Severin’s finger, his gut burning. He came, his cock shooting out feebly, a small half-teaspoon mixing with the layer of alphic come that covered him. 

Severin’s finger continued to fuck him, until finally Richie cried out. 

Severin gently pulled out. 

He leaned forward, holding his hand behind Richie’s head right before Richie’s head fell against the shower floor. Richie was utterly loose-limbed. 

* * * * 

Severin had to lean over Richard to keep his head supported. Richard’s eyelids were fluttering softly, the lower half of his face still streaked with come. 

“Shh. That’s it.” Severin was talking, although he mostly wasn’t aware of what he was saying. Whatever it was, it seemed to soothe Richard. 

Which was good. Because meanwhile, Severin’s thoughts tore through him.

He’d just come. He was sure of it. That wasn’t really the type of thing one wondered about. An orgasm was an orgasm, especially one as powerful as that. 

But alphas didn’t come. Ever. Not unless they were inside an omega in heat. And not only had he not been inside Richard’s hole, but Richard most definitely was not in heat. Severin knew this not only because of Richard’s unaltered scent, but because neither of them were immediately ready to get to it again. 

Richard finally reopened his eyes. There’d been no doubt that he’d enjoyed it in the moment, but even so, when he said sleepily, “That was the best,” Severin felt his chest swell with pride. 

Not only had he gotten to come, but that post-omegic-orgasm mania was soon to flood over him as well. 

“Can I wash you off?” Severin asked. 

Richard sat up, startled. 

“Please,” he said, putting his hands over his chest as if Severin were hovering over him with a threatening washcloth. “Please, may I lick it off?” 

That was gratifying to hear. 

“God, yes,” Severin said. And he had no choice, really, but to take a seat on the shower tiles and watch Richard bathe. 

  
“Richard.” Severin had been half-asleep, but a last, dangling thought of consciousness snapped him fully awake again.

“Mm?” Richard sounded tiredly beside him. 

Severin stared at the dark ceiling. Richard was in his arms, both of them under the duvet. He said, “What happens if you’re pregnant?” 

The question formed a knot in his stomach. It seemed big, impossible, looming over him. The horrible reality was that they weren’t registered mates, and unregistered mates weren’t allowed to reproduce. The horrible reality was that Severin didn’t want to be the father of alphas, alphas who would be hated in England and probably die not soon after their sixteenth birthdays. 

Richard seemed to be thinking none of this. 

“Not pregnant,” he yawned, already drifting back to sleep. 

“How can you be sure?” Severin asked. How could they get a pregnancy test if they weren’t registered mates? How could they register without actually mating? If Richard was pregnant, he would have to leave James. 

“Birth control,” Richard said simply, nuzzling himself into the curve of Severin’s neck. 

“Birth control,” Severin echoed. He’d heard of it before. Anyone could buy it in stores in Paris, it was said. Although British soldiers were never permitted in those stores. “How would you…?” 

“Shh,” Richard said. “Sleep time, Severin.” 

Richard’s sleepy voice was too adorable, and the immediate release of nerves that hearing ‘birth control’ caused was like a bribe. A bribe for Severin not to ask any more questions. 

“Good night, Richard,” he said, giving him one last kiss on the forehead before sleep. 

“’Night, Severin,” said Richard. He kissed Severin’s shoulder. 

They were both asleep in no time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How delicious is Severin’s come, you ask? Severin’s come tastes like the Holy Land. Severin’s come tastes like a _krabby patty._
> 
> Sorry if this chapter was too weird/ridiculous for you, folks.
> 
> Thanks for reading.


	14. Time

When Severin first opened his eyes in the morning, the terrible, repeat feeling of finding Richard gone shook him right awake. He sat up, already surrendering to the dread. He made plans - to call Richard, first, of course, but then James. He couldn't go another six days - or more - without knowing where Richard was. 

Scratch that. Richard was here. 

Richard wasn’t in his arms as he’d been when they’d fallen asleep. Instead, sometime during the night he’d curled near the middle of the bed. One of them had kicked off the duvet, and he lay vertically, his head resting against Severin’s bare thigh. His hand loosely gripped Severin’s cock. 

Severin lay back down, although he propped himself up with pillows enough to keep looking at Richard. Beautiful, sleeping Richard. Was it possible he could really like Severin’s cock so much? 

“Mmm… Good morning, Severin.” He blinked sleepily, back arching as he yawned. Neither of them had dressed before bed. On his stomach, he gave Severin a clear, delicious view of his shapely arse. 

“You’re gorgeous, Richard,” Severin greeted. 

Richard smiled wide. 

He crawled up to Severin, planting a kiss on Severin’s cheek. Then he giggled. 

“What?” Severin asked. 

“Rough,” Richard said. His eyes gleamed. “You’re sexy with stubble.” 

Severin did a quick self-evaluation. Sexy. That wasn’t a word he’d apply to himself, exactly. He felt old. Like used goods. And unshaven. 

He’d take it, though. 

Richard seemed oblivious to his thoughts. Instead, he nuzzled Severin, rubbing his cheek against Severin’s rougher skin. He must have liked the sensation, because it wasn’t even 8 A.M., and he was already purring. 

“I’ll have to shave right away, though,” Severin teased. 

“Huh?” Richard drew away. “Why’s that?” 

“Oh, you’ll like the reason,” Severin said, getting up. “Put it this way: I should be clean shaven before I have my breakfast.” 

Richard gave him a scrutinizing look, uncomprehending, but he was quick to follow him to the shower. Severin became overly aware of his own cock, swinging with each step he took, but before he could search for a towel, or ask to shower alone, Richard looked at his cock with wide eyes, reached out, and gave him a squeeze. 

Severin’s cock was already half-hard, and there was no mistaking the appreciation in Richard’s eyes. 

“I think I’m gonna have my breakfast in the shower,” Richard announced. 

Severin grinned. 

“Yes,” he said, giving Richard’s sweet, sweet arse a playful smack. “Yes, I think you should.” 

* * * * 

After they were nice and clean from the shower, Richie was wrapped up snug in a thick, soft, white towel. There was a moment when Severin held the towel open and Richie span into it, so that it wrapped and wrapped around him as he spun. He ended up in Severin’s arms. They stayed like that, bodies pressed together. Able to feel each other’s heartbeats. Richie had never felt so content before. 

He loved Severin. 

Severin had sexy whiskers, which Richie was going to delight in watching him shave in a few moments. And he had a big cock, and beautiful abs, and biceps from years of hard work. 

It was all mouthwatering. But it was Severin’s heartbeat that made true joy surge in Richie’s chest. That made Richie feel that years and years could pass, and Severin could get old, and wrinkled, and weak, and Richie would love him every bit as he did now. Could only ever love him more, as time passed – never less. 

He thought about saying it aloud, but he wasn’t sure if Severin cared about something like that. He cared about mating, certainly – more than Richie had realized. 

But mating wasn’t love. 

  


Richie couldn’t stop giggling. He felt so safe, so completely free. Severin picked him up and carried him into the bedroom, unwrapped him from the towel. He was all dry and warm now, except for his hair. Severin ruffled that up with the towel, too, before tossing the towel onto the floor. 

Then he positioned Richie so that he was on his hands and knees on the mattress. Severin’s hands touched lightly around Richie’s hips, signaling for him to prop up his ass. Richie complied, laughing some more. 

“What are you going to do?” Richie asked, although he already knew. 

Severin’s answer still left him momentarily breathless. He said: “I’m going to delight in you.” 

Although Richie couldn’t see with his face pressed against a pillow, he felt Severin’s rough hands against his smooth skin, gently kneading his ass, spreading his cheeks to expose his hole. 

“Don’t squirm so much, kitten, or else I can’t get to you,” Severin said. And sweet Severin, he quickly added: “Unless you don’t want me to get to you?” 

He always asked for permission. Richie loved that. 

“Please, please, please,” Richie said. Then he remembered that he wasn’t supposed to be squirming and he stilled his hips. 

Severin laughed. “Of course, it is a beautiful sight: Your ass wiggling in my face like that.” 

Richie’s face got hot and he pressed it deeper into his pillow. 

Then Severin’s mouth was on him. He kissed down Richie’s crack, and came back up to circle his tongue around Richie’s hole. Richie whimpered. He never felt more grateful to be an omega than when someone was rimming him. It was the only type of stimulation that he could feel throughout his entire body; it zapped nerves, sent them singing all over, up his spine to his neck, down his legs to his toes. Severin must have seen how his toes couldn’t stop wiggling, in anticipation and due to the first, delivered tingles of pleasure. He tickled those toes as he licked. 

Severin proceeded at a more relaxed pace than Richie would have liked, but Richie soon learned to enjoy it. He could tell that Severin intended to continue this for a very, very long time, which was exactly what Richie wanted. He felt so spoiled. 

Never in his adult life did he imagine he’d have an alpha pampering him like this, so big and rough but treating him so gently. And it was even better because it was _Severin._ Severin’s long nose nudging at his crack, his tongue teasing Richie’s most intimate bits. 

Richie sighed with languorous pleasure. 

Severin pulled away. 

“Are you alright?” he asked, misinterpreting the sigh. 

“I…” He had to watch it. He’d nearly blurted out _I love you,_ just like that. Alphas wouldn’t want to hear that in bed. “I’m really, really alright.” 

Severin chuckled. “Good. Because this is going to be a really, really long morning.” 

Richie was glad to hear that. 

* * * *

Friday somehow slipped away from them. They drifted between cuddles and heated, frenzied sex; afterwards, Severin would make Richard a cup of his favorite tea, and they’d return to cuddling. They never left the bed for long. 

Sometime around noon (Severin’s attention wasn’t on his clock), Richard went to suck Severin’s cock. 

“We should probably take this to the shower,” Severin said, but it was too late: Their white sheets were stained with come the moment Richard’s hands touched him. Stupid, excitable cock. 

Richard giggled delightedly. “I don’t mind. I need to do the laundry anyway.” 

“You don’t need to do the laundry here, Richard,” Severin said sternly. 

“Oh, but please,” Richard said, forgetting Severin’s cock for a moment to look up at him. “I love doing laundry for the people I care about. Touching your things will be so personal. Please.” 

“If you genuinely want to,” Severin said. 

“Yes, yes, yes,” Richard whispered, leaning down, so that it almost looked like he was talking to Severin’s cock. Then his mouth was around Severin, tight and hot as the night before, and there was nothing Severin could do about the considerable come that was going to flood his sheets. 

Nothing, except lean back and enjoy.

  


Friday drifted to Saturday. Saturday to Sunday. They took turns making each other little meals, feeding each other hand to mouth. Their bedside table was cramped with Richard’s emptied tea mugs, a half a bottle of chocolate syrup, and a pitcher of water. Sometimes they stopped to read, or stretch. Richard tried to teach Severin his yoga moves, but Severin found his muscles to be intolerably tight. This made Severin feel ancient, so as a little revenge he tried to teach Richard how to do a proper push-up – and then, most unfairly, a proper pull-up, hanging from a bar in Severin’s closet. 

Richard wasn’t very good at those. 

Curiously, after that first night, Severin didn’t come again. Richard was disappointed, but Severin considered it exceptional that he’d gotten even one orgasm. A scientific mystery. 

Monday morning came, and Severin saw no reason why they should stop. Neither of them had day jobs. They didn’t have to bow to dreary Monday mornings. 

Richard was in his arms, spinning his fingers through Severin’s hair and humming. Severin’s hair wasn’t long enough for Richard to catch hold of, but Richard seemed to enjoy playing with it enough. 

“I love your hair,” he was saying. “Did you know it’s lighter than Seb’s?” 

“Really?” asked Severin. 

“Uh-huh. Just a shade. But I’m sure of it,” Richard said. “And…” He continued to hum, fingers skimming their way down Severin’s head. “I love your ears.” He tickled one. “They’re the most beautifully shaped ears I’ve ever seen.” 

“Oh, really?” Severin challenged, scooping Richard up and spilling him onto his lap. Richard quickly sat up again, linking one arm around Severin’s neck for balance. 

“And your nose,” Richard continued, unfazed. “I could kiss it for ages. You have the most alphic nose, Severin…”

He drew his finger down it, and went on, “You know, your lips are really my favorite lips…”

Hours passed like this. Severin had never felt so thoroughly examined – not even by the countless government medical workers who’d poked and prodded him during his years of service. Never had he felt so appreciated, either. 

“I don't ever want to leave this bed,” Richard concluded, finally snuggling back into Severin’s arms. Severin felt heat run through him as Richard ran a hand up his arm; Richard had just told him, after all, how attractive he found Severin’s muscles. Severin’s strength made him feel like a trained workhorse, but if Richard liked it, then he was glad to be a trained workhorse. “This is perfect.” 

“It is,” agreed Severin. He was looking Richard in the eyes. “You know, I always imagined that having a mate would be the best thing in my life. But even when I imagined being mated, it wasn’t as perfect as this.” 

“We’re like mates, without the mating bite,” Richard said. 

For most of his life, Severin had wanted his life stages to just end, for the next one to begin. For public school to be over, so that he could finally go to Oxford. For the army to be over, so that he could finally go home. 

“I want this to last,” Severin said. 

“It will,” Richard promised. “Forever.” 

Severin’s phone rang. 

He reluctantly reached for the bedside table, where it rested, and looked at the screen. 

He didn’t recognize the number. 

“Severin Moran speaking,” he answered. Richard closed his eyes, resting his head on Severin’s arm. 

A harsh beta’s voice sounded on the other end of the phone, skipping a greeting: “This is Investigator Tobias Gregson. I’m calling to confirm your appointment at the West London Clinic for tomorrow at 8 A.M.” 

“You must be mistaken. I haven’t made an appointment,” Severin said, wondering if he’d heard the word ‘Investigator’ correctly. 

“No, Mr. Moran. Consider this appointment a mandatory summoning.” 

Severin started to respond, but he heard a crackle on the other end and realized he’d been hung up on. 

He looked down at Richard, oblivious and peaceful in his lap. 

He spoke into his phone, “Okay, great. Thank you. Yes. Good-bye.” He pretended to end the call and set the phone down. 

“Who was that?” Richard asked mildly, tracing a pattern across Severin’s chest. 

“No one important,” Severin said, keeping the cold dread out of his voice, swallowing it down and feeling it sink, solid and immovable, to his stomach. He was certain, somehow, that he’d never told Richard a bigger lie. 

  


No matter what the appointment was for, at least it’d been made at a good time. Richard had a meeting with a director on Tuesday, so he was out of the flat before Severin anyway. Which was good. If Richard had stayed at his flat, he would have begged Severin not to go. And Severin was already eager to miss it. 

It was probably just a typical nurse’s appointment. He kept telling himself this. It was to make up for the one he’d skipped. Perhaps they needed him to come in person to ensure that he was alive – that he hadn’t killed himself. It was a dark interpretation of the call, but it made sense and wasn’t particularly ominous. He had trouble, though, forcing himself to believe it. 

Severin sat in the waiting room longer than ever. He’d wanted to bring one of Richard’s books, which he was rereading, but he didn’t dare to even bring something with Richard’s name on it into one of these clinics. He stared at the wall, instead, ignoring the nervous squeeze of his bladder, as if he were a dog who needed to pee just because he was uncomfortable. 

When he was finally called in, the omega nurse didn’t lead him down the hall where the procedural rooms were. Instead he was led in the opposite direction, down an icy, gray corridor. He could hear the continuous sound of air conditioning through the overhead vents, although the air outside was cold enough for it to be unneeded. 

He was led to a plain room. The walls were entirely white, and bare. Nothing was in the room except for a single chair, situated in the room’s center. 

“You can sit down,” said the omega nurse cheerily, as if he were inviting Severin to take a seat by a fireside. 

He left, closing the door behind him. Severin was still telling himself that this was all normal, that their procedural rooms were simply all filled up at the moment, and so they were taking patients here. 

His half-hearted lie was crushed when he heard the door lock on the other side, trapping him. 

He stared at the door. He could feel cameras on him, although there weren’t any plainly in sight. 

There was nothing he could do, now. He was here. There was no use speculating. 

He just had to wait.

  


A familiar face walked through the door. 

As she locked it again, Severin greeted, “Dr. Tanaka,” in a forced casual tone, as if to assert that he was comfortable here, utterly guiltless of whatever it was they thought he’d done. 

“Sit down,” she ordered. She hadn’t yet turned to face him, so he didn’t know how she knew he was standing. He’d forgotten how robotic her voice was. It made his throat go dry, his tongue stick to the roof of his mouth. 

When she finally faced him, she revealed her abnormally rigid posture, as if she had years of military experience. She wore a white lab coat and black boots. 

Severin forced himself to sit. He was so tall that he wasn't much shorter than her even sitting down. 

She looked down at him as if he were miles and miles below her. Then, as if pulling on a wooden Noh mask, she smiled. 

“Should I congratulate you?” she asked. 

Severin looked at her blankly. 

“Well?” she prompted. “Have you found a mate, or not?” 

Poker face, poker face. Severin didn’t say a word. 

She dropped the mask. 

“Allow me to rephrase: After finding a mate, an alpha has ninety-six hours to register as mated. You skipped your appointment last Thursday, so, if you did find a mate, then your timetable has passed, and you’ve broken the law. However, I have the paperwork here,” she gestured to a clipboard she held beneath one arm, “and I can have you and your omega in our records in no time. You’ll pay a small fee as punishment and be on your way. Easy.” That false, chilling grin again. “If, however, you don’t have a mate, then explain why you missed your appointment last Thursday.” 

Severin swallowed. “I…didn’t need it.” That was true. 

“Really? It’s been an awfully long time since your last appointment. Most alphas experience discomfort after about seven days without release.

“You must be aware, Mr. Moran, that although brothels are overlooked by the military in France, they are illegal here. Brothels make omegas and alphas less eager to mate, they result in the inevitable smuggling of contraceptives, and a whole, other list of horrors you and I both cringe to think about.” 

Severin nodded numbly. It was clear she didn’t know about Richard. As long as she didn’t know, she couldn’t make the two of them mate, and Richard wouldn’t lose James. 

If he said he’d gone to a brothel, he wasn’t sure what she would do to him. But he knew she wouldn’t believe it without evidence: an address, the name of the brothel’s owner, something. And Severin knew nothing about brothels in London, had no alibi to give her. 

He just had to keep her away from Richard. 

She pulled up her white sleeve and looked at a watch. “I’m going to be late. You have ten seconds – no, make that five – to tell me why you didn’t need your appointment last Thursday. Otherwise, I have an ultimatum.” 

She pulled down her sleeve, and Severin could feel the seconds ticking. 

He cleared his throat. Nevertheless his voice came out raspy: “I’ll take the ultimatum, please.” 

“Excellent. Here it is: Come here to register yourself with a mate within the next two days,” she said. 

Severin panicked. “Or?” he said. “What if – what if I can’t do that?” 

“Or you’ll need to fill these out,” Dr. Tanaka said. She took out a thick envelope from her coat pocket and handed it to Severin. “Take those home and look them over. It should make the situation clear to you.” 

She turned on her boots, and marched to the door. 

“I do not understand why you are uncooperative, Mr. Moran,” she said, in her unfeeling monotone. “But remember that, one way or another, it is necessary for all alphas to do their British duty. Dismissed.” 

Severin stayed nailed to his chair as she swung open the door. He watched her walk efficiently down the hallway, strides wide and fast, boots thumping. Eventually he, too, stood, and made for the long walk home, an envelope burning in his hand. 

  


The flat was still empty when he got back. He took the envelope to his kitchen counter and, with a knife, slit it open. 

A number of papers fell out. The first was a letter, addressed to him. His mind was whirring too much to make sense of any of its words, so he shuffled through the next paper. It was like what everyone thought was true, like he was illiterate, because the individual letters blurred together until they were an unreadable puzzle. 

His heart was pounding. He couldn’t hear anything except for his heart, and the cold ticking of his kitchen clock, like Dr. Tanaka’s watch. He had the harrowing thought that his time was running out. 

One of the last papers was a form. Left blank, for him to fill out. Across its top ran bold, black letters: 

**REENLISTMENT DOCUMENTATION/ARMED FORCES OF GREAT BRITAIN**

“No,” he said, as if Dr. Tanaka was around to hear him. Re-drafted. _No._

He took out his phone, hands shaking. Two days. He had two days to serve his new duty on the British Isles, or he returned to mainland Europe, to take up his old duty. 

He dropped the phone, and it took him four tries to get all the digits right. Once he did, though, an omegic voice blessedly answered. 

“Molly,” he said. “Molly. Molly Hooper. Please, this is Severin Moran. I need your help.”


	15. Ridiculous

“Oh! Mike Stamford’s heat is due in a week. Don’t ask how I know this.” Molly laughed awkwardly. “Omega talk, I guess. He’s not the cutest, but…” 

“A week is too late,” Severin said. “Is there even a single omega you know who’s looking for a mate _now?_ Or will be by tomorrow? Or is there anyone who would know omegas who are looking?” 

Molly surveyed Severin. Just looking at him made her anxious. He’d refused to sit down at first, before realizing that his looming over her, pacing around her living room, made her nervous. Now, in an armchair and amongst Molly’s doilies and glass cat figurines, he looked out of place. 

She wasn’t comfortable around him. He was the biggest alpha she’d ever met, and it made her feel small, small, small. But he spoke to her kindly, and he’d put himself in a vulnerable position by asking for her help. It wasn’t often an alpha would turn to an omega for help. 

His distress was practically tangible. 

She racked her brain. She didn’t have many friends, but most of the omegas she knew were searching for mates. There must be _someone_ in heat right now. Someone she wouldn’t have seen in a couple of days, or… 

“Oh,” she said. “He’s perfect! I didn’t think of him sooner because I think of him as being taken, but he’s unmated.” 

“Who?” Severin asked eagerly. He looked…not hopeful, exactly. That was too optimistic. He looked like he was searching for hope, and hoping achingly to find it. 

“O. Johnny Watson,” Molly said. “He lives with an alpha, but the alpha’s not… The alpha’s unusual. I’ve mentioned him. Sherlock.” 

“And Johnny?” Severin said, a bit impatient. 

“He’s probably due for a heat soon. I’m not sure how soon. Maybe soon enough,” Molly said. “You’d have to talk to him, meet him. He could be interested.” 

“Does he want a mate?” asked Severin. 

Molly blinked. Of course Johnny wanted a mate. What kind of omega didn’t want a mate? 

“Yes. He’s a doctor, though, so he’s busy a lot. And a detective. Sort of,” said Molly. 

“An omega doctor and detective?” Severin raised his eyebrows. 

“A detective’s assistant,” Molly rushed, shrinking into her seat. “I mean, he doesn’t actually solve the cases, of course. And he wanted to be an army doctor, but when they refused him he decided to become employed at a clinic. So, I mean, he’s not…” 

“He wanted to work for the army,” Severin repeated. 

Molly nodded. 

“He’s an omega,” Severin objected. 

Molly shrugged. It was none of her business. But Severin seemed to linger on it. “Does he know what the army’s like?” Severin asked. “Even as a doctor, he would have had to undergo basic training. As an _omega._ He would have had to learn how to shoot a gun.” 

Severin was clearly so horrified by this prospect that he was momentarily distracted from his own pain. 

“I’ll give you his number, then?” Molly tried. 

“Yes,” Severin said. “Yes, please. If he’s…if he’s the only one you can think of.” 

* * * * 

“I’m so sorry for the mess, dear. You know how young men like you are. I’m sure you’re just the same.” The landlady looked at him sweetly as she served him a cup of tea. 

Not only would he never begrudge a sweet, elderly omega for her tenants’ dump of a flat, but her ‘young men like you’ comment gave him a boost of confidence he urgently needed. 

“It’s perfectly fine,” he assured. Just then, someone appeared in the doorway. 

O. Dr. Johnny Watson. 

Severin’s first impression was that he was oddly broad, for an omega, as if he worked out. Severin remembered what Molly said about Johnny wanting to shoot guns, and wondered if he was like James, an alpha wannabe. If so, he might be reluctant to mate. 

“A. Severin,” Johnny greeted, oddly upfront for an omega. The sweet omega landlady swept out of the room, but before she left Severin heard her distinctly whisper to Johnny, “A handsome one, isn’t he?” 

This may explain why Johnny’s cheeks were pink as he took the seat across from Severin. He wore an adorable, thick sweater, which reminded Severin of Richard. He felt a sudden affection for Johnny and leaned forward, offering his hand. 

“Thank you for meeting me at such a short notice,” he said. “I’m not sure how much O. Molly told you.” 

“Everything,” Johnny said flatly. 

Severin stayed silent. He’d been hoping she’d have rather more tact than that. First, it made things awkward, Johnny knowing Severin was here only to mate with him. Second, Severin didn’t want Johnny to feel obligated to mate with someone for life in order to spare them from the war. Although Johnny – short as he was – didn’t seem like he could be easily pulled into something like that. 

Then, of course, there was the lingering hope that Johnny _would_ mate with him to spare him from war, that anyone would just mate with him. Then he could register, and return to Richard, and get on with life. 

“You live with an alpha, right?” Severin asked. “If he comes back while I’m here, will he be angry?” 

“Oh, God, no.” Johnny snorted. “Sherlock may not even notice you’re here. Although you are sitting in his chair.” Johnny frowned. “Maybe he’ll think you’re a client.” 

“Client?” Severin asked. 

“For his detective work. We solve cases. We’re all tied up right now with Magnussen at the moment, though…” Johnny noted Severin’s cup of tea. 

“O. Hudson! I need tea!” he called, directing his shout towards the doorway. Severin was taken aback by the capacity of the omega’s lungs. He tried to imagine Richard raising his voice like that, and couldn’t. John turned back to Severin. “She always forgets me, sorry.” 

“It’s…fine,” Severin said. “Do you mean A. Charles Augustus Magnussen? The newspaper man?” 

“The arms dealer,” Johnny said darkly. “Although I shouldn’t be talking about that with anyone. Except, I guess, if you were my mate, I’d tell you everything.” 

Severin was struck silent by Johnny’s candor. 

Johnny laughed. “It’s a shit situation you’ve been stuck in, isn’t it? It makes me barking mad, the whole thing. You, not wanting to be in the army. Me, in my younger days – did Molly tell you?” 

“She did,” Severin acknowledged. 

“Do you think I’m crazy?” Johnny asked. 

Severin considered. He said honestly, “I can’t imagine an omega shooting a gun. I don’t think omegas _should_ shoot guns – ” 

“I’m a crack shot,” Johnny interrupted. 

“Sorry?” 

“I’m good,” he said. “Very good.” 

Severin looked at Johnny’s small hands, trying to imagine a gun in them. 

Just then, O. Hudson entered the room. 

“So sorry, Johnny,” she said. “But you know, it’s the alphas who need waiting on. You could have poured yourself a cuppa in the kitchen.” 

Nevertheless she went into the kitchen, with Johnny calling, “And biscuits, for the both of us, please.” 

“Only because we have an alpha guest,” O. Hudson called. 

Severin was too nauseas to eat, but after Johnny had his tea and biscuits, Johnny continued, “I knew I had to be good to ever have a chance of doing what I wanted to do. Not just good at medicine, but at _all_ of it. I was wrong, though. It didn’t matter. They never gave me a chance.” There was bitterness in his voice. He sounded like Sebastian, Severin thought. 

“Johnny,” Severin said slowly, “would you like me to call you Jonathan?” 

Johnny blinked. “John, actually,” he said. “I like it when people call me John. Because I’m no alpha. And, I mean, looking at your situation, maybe it’s a good thing that I’m not. But a beta... Being a beta’s not so bad. Sometimes betas even think _I’m_ a beta, you know. Because they can’t smell.” 

“John,” Severin said. The name felt warm on his tongue. He wasn’t attracted to John, but he could smell a faint, omegic scent. He said, “You’re not interested in mating with your flat mate, John?” 

John snorted. “He’s mated to his work. I don’t think he’s ever even considered it. Not with me, or any other omega.” 

“And you do seem an awful lot like a beta,” Severin said. Smaller than Severin – a lot smaller – but outspoken, and not so eager to comply. It made John interesting. “Maybe he forgets you’re an omega.” 

He’d been joking, but John nodded. “I think you’re right. Can I ask – why’re you calling me John?” 

“You just asked me to,” Severin said. 

“Yeah, I know. I ask everyone to. But it’s like they don’t hear me,” John said. “Except for Sherlock, I mean.” 

“I…” Severin paused. “I call people whatever they want to be called. It is important to me – whether people are omegas, betas, or alphas. But I don’t want it to be. I’m working on it.” 

“Wow. That’s. That’s interesting,” John said. “That’s nice. Really nice.” 

He sounded impressed, although Severin didn’t feel impressive. He felt like he kept making mistakes, and was biased in uncountable ways he couldn’t even see. 

But John seemed to like him, so far. 

“I know you don’t have a lot of time,” John said. “Which isn’t fair, but – I don’t have a lot of time, either. My heat’s tomorrow.” 

“Tomorrow? That’s great,” Severin said eagerly, leaning forward. 

“You can’t smell it?” John asked curiously. 

Severin paused. “Of course I can,” he lied. Then he faltered. “No. I can’t, actually. No.” 

“War injury?” John asked, sympathetically. 

Severin shook his head. “There’s…an omega. An omega I know. We’re never going to mate though,” he hastened to say. “Which is the problem. That’s why I’m in London after two months, still looking for a mate. Why I might be re-drafted.” Severin cleared his throat, taking a gulp of tea. It washed down hot. “If I mated, I…” He needed to be honest, needed to get this out in the open. If an omega was willing to mate with a near-stranger to save that near-stranger’s life, the least Severin could do was present the facts. “I have no intention of giving Richard up. Even if I can’t mate with him.” 

“Richard is the omega?” John asked, to clarify. 

“O. Richie, yes,” Severin said. 

“Well, A. Severin,” John said, leaning back in his chair. “I have to say, I don’t _enjoy_ not having a mate. It does make things…difficult. But no alpha wants me, since Sherlock takes up all of my time. And even if I mated, I wouldn’t stop my cases with Sherlock. The work’s important to me, too.” 

Severin smiled softly. “I wouldn’t expect you to give up Sherlock, as long as you have no problem with Richard.” 

“And the cases? A lot of alphas don’t like the idea of an omega doing crime work. It can be…dangerous,” John said. 

“But you’re with an alpha? Sherlock?” Severin asked. 

John nodded. 

“I mean, even if you weren’t,” Severin said, “I suppose I can’t do anything about it. It’s your life. Richard is an actor.” 

“You let him act?” John looked surprised and relieved at once. 

Severin shrugged. “I don’t let or not let him. He was acting before I met him.” 

_And Richard on stage is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen._

“If I were to mate,” John said cautiously, “I’m not sure how interested I’d be in moving. Sherlock’s flat is a mess, but it’s where our clients come. And…” 

“It’s fine,” Severin assured. “My flat would be open to you, but Richard’s in it a lot.” 

John began to laugh. 

“What is it?” Severin asked. 

He laughed some more, bringing his teacup to his mouth as if to shield his giggle fit. 

His omegic-ness finally appeared. Those cute little giggles. Severin liked them. It reminded him of Richard, so giggly in bed. 

“This is – just – so – ” John gasped between laughs, _“ridiculous.”_

“What is?” Severin asked, although he was smiling, John’s happiness contagious. 

“Not living together. Not giving up our alpha or our omega. But not mating with them, no – mating with each other. It’s just…” John gave a last laugh and then breathed, catching his breath. “It’s good, I think. It sounds good. What do you think?” 

“It’s ideal,” Severin said. “And this is a lot easier than I thought it’d be.” 

“It is,” John admitted. Then he paused, seeming troubled. “Am I too easy for you?” 

“No,” Severin said. “I need easy. Just this once.” 

John had blue eyes, Severin noticed. They weren’t as big as Richard’s, but they were still omegic, still made him feel good when he looked into them. He didn’t look away even as John put out his hand, and they shook on it. 

“Spend the night,” John offered. “I never know exactly when my heat will come. And Sherlock usually leaves once it does.” 

The idea of not seeing Richard until this was over, done, until Severin was registered and could go back to his forever with Richard, to the space where they never had to leave each other, seemed right. 

“Alright,” Severin said, ending the shake. “I’ll spend the night.” 

John nodded, then shouted for O. Hudson to come back up. They were done with their tea. 


	16. After

“Richard…” he murmured, feeling Richard’s fingers caress his arm. His touches weren’t as light as they usually were. Severin opened his eyes. “Are you alright?” 

John was smiling at him. “Not Richard. But’m just fine.” 

His voice was groggy with sleep. Severin sat up, reaching out. His fingers brushed John’s neck. 

John hissed. “Easy, there.” 

Severin had been touching very lightly, but he pulled away. John’s neck looked like it’d been near-mauled by a wild animal – a wild animal who hadn’t quite broken skin. It was purple and black with Severin’s teeth marks. 

Was a mating bite supposed to look like that? Severin had never heard of them bruising before, but he was clueless about these things. 

“I didn’t think that it would be quite so sore,” John said. 

“I’m sorry,” Severin said quietly. “Could I…could I make you coffee?” 

John smiled. He reached out for Severin’s hand. 

Being close with John like this – it wasn’t hard. It felt mildly wrong, but Severin could gather no ill feelings towards John. This shouldn’t have happened, they shouldn’t have mated, and they both knew it. But neither of them were at fault. 

“Don’t you notice anything strange, Severin?” John asked. 

“Your neck?” Severin said, swallowing nervously. “I didn’t mean to be so enthusiastic – ” 

He stopped. He had meant it. He could remember doing it, although the memory had a kind of distance to it, as if it happened in a dream he’d had the night before. On top of John, both in the throes of ecstasy. John’s neck pressed against his mouth, Severin taking in as much of the flesh as he could, biting hard, grateful for the way his bite muffled his continuous cries of, _“Richard.”_

“I can put something on it for you,” he offered instead. 

“I don’t care about my neck,” John said. “It’ll be fine. But look at your phone.” 

Severin nearly panicked, thinking Richard had left an urgent message John had listened to. His phone was off, though, and as he turned it on he looked quizzically at John. 

“Look at the date,” John said. 

Severin glanced at it. “It’s the day after yesterday,” he said. “Your point…?”

“Have you ever heard of a heat ending in one night?” John asked. 

No. Severin hadn’t. But there was plenty of stuff he’d never heard of that turned out to be true. 

“Maybe because it was our first time?” Severin tried. 

“No. I’m sorry, Severin.” John shook his head. “I’m a doctor. I know what this is supposed to be like. It shouldn’t be over yet, but it is. And, I mean,” he rushed to say, “you were great.” His face grew pink. “I mean you were really, _really_ great. But, erm…” He cleared his throat. Then his features fell. “I’m sorry, Severin.” 

“Why? Because your heat ended early? That’s fine, I still bit you. That’s all I needed,” Severin said. “I mean, you’re my mate now. So thank you, because…”

Because he could stay home, now. He could avoid the war. He could go see Richard, right now – or right after he and John registered. 

“Do you feel any different?” John asked. 

“Different?” Severin said. “I feel like…” He reflected, then tried, “…like I had some amazing sex last night?” 

“Do you feel connected to me?” John clarified. 

Severin thought about it. But the way he paused was answer enough. 

“Do you feel a lifelong need to stay committed to me?” John asked. 

He felt, mostly, the need to see Richard again. The need was burning at him, as insistent as morning thirst, but a touch more painful. 

“To protect me?” John said. 

“That’s not fair,” Severin said. “I don’t, but I don’t need to. You said it yourself. You’re a crack shot.” 

He frowned again. He really wasn’t liking this omegas-shooting-guns thing. They were too precious to be killing people, hurting things. 

“That’s not the point…” John frowned. “I’m really, really sorry, Severin.” 

“What is it? I don’t understand.” Except he did understand and he didn’t want to. He hoped John was apologizing in an omegic way, for something silly that Severin wouldn’t care about. 

“I should have told you and I didn’t. I expected this would happen, but I wanted to help you. Instead I’ve wasted your time.” John put his face in his hands. “I’m sorry.” 

“Tell me what’s going on,” Severin said. 

“We’re not mated. We’re not mated because we _can’t_ mate, because I’m already mated, although I wasn’t sure. I suspected, but now I know.” John lowered his hands. When he saw Severin’s blank expression, he elaborated: “I’m soul bonded. With my flat mate, Sherlock. I should have warned you, at least told you how much I care about him. I wasn’t sure if we were, but I guess last night proved it.” 

“Soul mates,” Severin said. He blinked. “But – you two have never mated before? He’s never bitten you?” 

“Well, it doesn’t matter with a soul bond, does it?” John asked. “Just meeting is enough, with those kinds of bonds.” 

“No. No, that’s not true,” he said. “I asked a doctor once. Even with a soul bond, you still need to mate.” 

John raised his eyebrows. _“I’m_ a doctor. I took whole classes on soul bonds in med school. What kind of doctor told you this?” 

“A…” A government doctor. Severin frowned. 

Shit. 

“Don’t be sorry, John,” he said. His heart was beating now. Shit. He scrambled out of bed, searching for his clothes, his things. Fuck. Fuck. A week hadn’t passed, so he still had one more day, but this was entirely too little time regardless. Dr. Tanaka hadn't given him enough time in the first place. He would have needed a week, at least, if she actually thought he didn't have a mate. He'd been too stressed to see the obvious.

Pessimistically, Dr. Tanaka knew about the existence of Richard. Maybe even of their soul bond. Their relationship wasn't exactly private to anyone who read a newspaper, and he'd practically spelled out the soul bond issue the first time they met.

Optimistically, Dr. Tanaka was just acting on a hunch. 

And it didn’t matter now, didn’t matter if Dr. Tanaka – lying _bitch_ \- had given him years, because he would never mate with Richard, and would never be able to mate with anyone except – 

He fumbled with his jeans, zippering them so hastily he only realized he wasn’t wearing his briefs until his jeans were already securely on. Oh well. Parting gift to John. 

“It’s not your fault,” Severin said. Soul bonded. Soul bonded, but unmated, unmated and unable to mate with anyone except for the omega he’d soul bonded with. 

“FUCK!” There was a smashing sound. Broken bits lay at his feet. His phone. 

“It’s like a fucking jigsaw puzzle and none of the FUCKING pieces fit.” He took a breath. He was aware of omegic eyes on him. Breathe. Breathe. Recompose. 

“I have to go,” he said to John. “I’m sorry, it’s not your fault. Believe me – it’s mine. But I have to go, and now I need to use your phone.” 

“Of course,” John said quickly, scrambling for his own phone. “Anything I can do.” 

With John’s phone in his hand, Severin fantasized about calling Richard. Telling him everything, asking to meet him so that they could make a plan together. 

But John, an omega so much sturdier and stronger than Richard, was looking at him with frightened, distressed eyes right now, and he didn’t even know the half of it. The half of this impossible fucking situation. 

He imagined Richard’s stress. He imagined Richard feeling even an ounce of his nausea or clamminess or nerves. 

This wasn’t a problem to burden an omega with. He dialed a different number.

“Sebastian,” he said, as soon as he heard his brother answer. “Sebastian, I’ve got to meet you.” 

“Sure,” Sebastian responded, oblivious and sounding weirdly chipper. Probably he just sounded normal, but anything other than _on-the-edge-of-a-breakdown_ seemed inappropriate. “When? I’m busy today and tomorrow, but – ” 

“No. Today. Now. Right now,” Severin said. “Where are you? Actually, I don’t care. Meet me at 223 Baker Street. It’s a sandwich place.” 

“But I – ” 

“Sebastian,” Severin said. A warning, a ‘please,’ a plead. It was all packed into the tone of his voice. 

“Jim’s going to kill me,” Sebastian mumbled. “Fine, though. Anything for my brother.”

  


“Say something.” 

They had to keep their voices down because Severin didn’t want all the jolly sandwich-eaters in the place to hear about how, in the last two days, the government had constructed his own personal hell. 

Nevertheless, Sebastian didn’t have to stay completely _silent._

He picked at a limp tomato with his fork until it fell out of his sandwich. He sprinkled some salt on it, carefully and evenly, and then a dash of pepper. He took up his knife and cut a piece of it. Chewed it, swallowed. Severin envied that, although Sebastian was unhappy right now, he was still able to eat. Severin hadn’t eaten since before he’d gone to the clinic. 

"I only had you back for two months,” Sebastian said. “I thought I’d grown good at not getting what I want, but maybe working for Jim has spoiled me. Like I think things will turn out alright, eventually.” 

“For you they have,” Severin said flatly. It was true: The asymmetry of it, that the fate of one brother should lead to a fulfilling career and love, while the other brother’s led, again and again, to the battlefield, was skewed and wrong. 

“Not if my brother’s leaving me so soon,” said Sebastian. “Christ, Severin. I…”

It seemed like Sebastian wanted to say something emotional. They both cleared their throats and looked in opposite directions. 

Looking at a display of ham sandwiches, Severin said, “I’m not going to tell Richard.” 

“Oh, God, no,” Sebastian said. “Of course not.” 

Sebastian wasn’t arguing. Unexpected. Severin breathed a relieved sigh, because he was too tired to formulate arguments. The only thing, on this day, to be relieved about. 

“I need a good excuse for why I’m leaving,” Severin said. He looked down at his plate. “One that doesn’t involve dying an early, violent death in Paris.” 

“Shut the fuck up,” Sebastian said. “You make that shit of a soldier, that you think you’ll let the fucking French take you down?” 

“I’m not a shit soldier,” Severin retorted. 

“Then you won’t die,” Sebastian said simply. “Tell Richard you can’t take London anymore. So you’re leaving.” 

“He might try to follow me,” Severin said. Although he wasn’t sure how much Richard would care about his leaving. That’s why it was nice to be here, with Sebastian, possibly the only person in the world who cared almost as much as Severin that he had to go. 

“Say you’re going to the countryside,” Sebastian offered. “A remote place where he wouldn’t be able to act or visit his brother often.” 

“Oh, good thinking,” said Severin. 

“He might still want to follow you,” Sebastian said. 

“Not if it means not acting and not seeing Jim,” said Severin. 

“Just in case. You can’t risk it,” Sebastian said. “If he wants to follow you, what would you do?” 

Severin paused. 

“Exactly. So tell him you’re leaving to look for a mate,” said Sebastian. “He won’t feel invited to come along then.” 

“I’d never look for a mate outside of Richard,” Severin said, fists squeezing together. “He knows that.” 

John didn’t count. John had been _to stay_ with Richard, not _instead_ of Richard. 

“Does he?” Sebastian raised his eyebrows. “That’s not what he tells Jim and me.” 

“What?” 

“He always talks about how eager you are to mate,” Sebastian said. “It’d make sense to him.” 

Severin frowned. “He might be hurt.” 

“I know.” 

Severin wasn’t sure when, but Sebastian had finished his sandwich. And his coffee. Severin was glad. The presence of food on the table had been making him sick. 

“Sebastian,” he said. 

“Yeah?” 

“I really don’t want to leave. I don’t want to leave you or Richard. I don’t want to leave London,” he said. 

“I know.” 

“I know you know. I just wanted to tell someone,” he said. 

Sebastian gave him a smile. The kind of smile reserved for when frowns weren’t enough. It said, _What’re you going to do about it?_

“Get your bill,” Severin said. “I need to go home and fill out my reenlistment papers.” 


	17. Country

For the first time, Richard and Severin experienced awkwardness. It was Severin’s fault. Richard walked through the door and went to embrace Severin, kiss him; it was clear from his face that he fully expected Severin to reciprocate. When Severin’s lips didn’t meet his, though, and when his hug could only be described as half-hearted, they parted from one another. Richard stepped back, closing the front door behind him. He picked at a string on his sleeve. 

“Where were you last night?” he asked. "And why'd you call me from Seb's phone?"

Severin couldn’t immediately answer. Richard’s sleeves were always too long for him, even though he wore omegic sweaters. His clothes were always too big, and it was adorable. Severin wanted to pull up his sleeves for him, and kiss the insides of his little wrists. 

He stayed still. Stiff. Didn’t want to make this any harder than it had to be. 

“I wanted to call you last night,” he said honestly, “but I didn’t have time.” 

He didn’t answer the questions, and Richard didn’t pry. Richard wasn’t a prier. He was sweet, omegic Richard, whose soul ran through Severin’s veins. 

The irony of it cut though Severin like a blade: If he loved Richard any less, he’d be able to keep him. If his soul wasn’t entangled with Richard’s – and, possibly, if John Watson’s wasn’t entangled with Sherlock’s – he could mate with someone else, and stay here. If he loved Richard any less, this wouldn’t hurt so badly. 

“Let’s sit on the couch,” Severin said. When Richard slid to be near Severin, on his lap or in his arms, Severin placed a hand on Richard’s shoulder. “I need to tell you something.” 

“Please,” Richard said frantically. He placed both of his hands over Severin’s, eyes begging for Severin not to move it. As if something bad would happen if Severin stopped touching him. “Please, Severin, I feel sick. Right here.” 

It seemed he had to rip, forcibly, his hand from where it touched Severin’s. He pointed to his own stomach, to the exact parallel spot where Severin’s nausea was coiling. 

_I’m sorry you can’t extricate yourself from my wounds._

Severin removed his hand from Richard’s shoulder. If he hadn’t been practicing precisely this kind of self-discipline for long weeks now, keeping his mouth away from Richard’s neck, he would have Richard in a desperate lip-lock right now. 

There was a long stretch of silence. Richard’s gorgeous eyes seeped into Severin, although Severin couldn’t look into them. 

“I have good news,” Severin said. “It’s really good news, for both of us. It might seem bittersweet at first, but I think it’ll turn out for the best. For both of us,” he said again. No matter what lies he might tell, he didn’t want Richard to think he was abandoning him. 

“What is it?” Richard asked. He drew his legs up to his chin, no doubt to ease his queasiness. 

“I’ve decided to leave London,” Severin said. 

There was a pause. 

Richard nodded, and Severin brightened to see how accepting he looked already, processing the news. 

“Definitely bittersweet,” Richard said. But he didn’t sound like he was breaking, or cracking, or on his way to an imminent death. Which was how Severin felt. So this was good. “I mean, the paparazzi have been horrible lately, so we’ll have more privacy. Do you have a place already picked out? Because a place with a fence, maybe, or lots of trees so any passersby can’t just peak in through the front windows, would be good.” Richard’s face got dully pink, and he added quietly, “And I’d like…I’d like a backyard, maybe. I could garden for you.” 

Severin’s heart sunk. Sebastian had been right. 

But he didn’t want to try Sebastian’s final lie. Not unless he had to. 

“I want to move to the country. Somewhere remote,” Severin said. “It wouldn’t be possible for you to continue your acting career. I understand, actually, if you want to stay here.” 

“Oh, no, of course not,” Richard said. “I’ll miss it. I’ll miss it terribly. But I don’t care. I’ll go wherever you want me to go.” 

Severin scrutinized Richard. He wasn’t objecting at all, not asking any questions. It seemed so simple to Richard: He would go where Severin was. 

Severin felt like he was going to vomit. 

“It’s more sweet than bitter,” Richard said, before Severin could make things clear. Then he laughed – a relieved laugh, like coming up for fresh air. “Golly, Severin. You had me so worried. I thought something bad had happened.” He leaned forward and hugged Severin before Severin could stop him. “We’re going to live in the country together!” 

Severin was drowning. 

He didn’t hug Richard back, couldn’t move. He closed his eyes. 

He would remember this. The feel of Richard’s body against his. He imprinted it across his brain, burned and etched it indelibly. 

“I’m going to the country,” he said slowly. “But you’re staying here, Richard.” 

Richard looked up at him with searching eyes. When he realized Severin hadn’t hugged him back, he moved to his spot on the couch again. Two separate islands. 

“For how long?” he asked. 

Christ. Was he making this hard on purpose? 

No, no, of course he wasn’t. Richard wasn’t like that. 

“I’m leaving London,” Severin said, energy focused on keeping his voice steady, facial expression unrevealing, “in order to find a mate.” 

“Oh,” Richard said. From his tone it was obvious he understood, or at least was beginning to, but even now he didn’t look broken, or drowning. 

“Oh?” Severin asked. He gave Richard a hint of a smile, as if to reassure him that this was not such a big deal. “Is that all you have to say?” 

“No,” Richard hurried. “Of course not.” He thought for a moment, and then broke out into a smile. “Congratulations, Severin.” 

His voice was filled with such warmth. Severin closed his eyes, basking in it. 

He was making this easy. He was an omega, made to do what Severin told him to do, feel how Severin told him to feel. He’d thought Severin was asking him to move to the country, and he’d been happy about it. Now, he thought Severin was looking for a mate and leaving him behind, and he was happy about that, too. 

“Thank you,” Severin said sincerely. He wouldn’t have known what to do if Richard seemed betrayed or hurt. “I know…I know we like each other, but…”

“But you need a mate,” Richard said. “Severin, I understand. I’ve gone without a mate, and I know it’s really hard. I like you a lot, and when you come back to London I’d like to see you. But I’m glad you’re not going to go through what I’ve been through. I’ve learned how to be happy with Jimmy and Seb, but you could easily have a real mate. A family. And now you will!” 

His smile was dazzling. Richard was so, so beautiful. 

“Have you already found someone?” he asked. “While I was gone, maybe?” 

“Not yet,” Severin croaked. He cleared his throat. “It shouldn’t take long, though.” 

“Of course it won’t,” Richard assured. He reached out his hand, to touch Severin’s. His hand wasn’t filled with the desperate and nervous energy it had before; the gesture was friendly, meant to reassure. 

“You’re such a kind person,” Severin said. This was the one true thing he could say. 

Richard was still smiling. “I should probably go now. I have another meeting with that same director. He’s really interested in a script I just wrote.” 

“Oh, that’s amazing, Richard,” Severin said. “Congratulations to you, too.” 

Richard nodded, then he laughed a bit. “Goodness. I’d hug you, but I guess you’re saving yourself for your new mate, now?” 

Severin was about to scramble forward, desperate for one, last hug from Richard. He needed to prolong these last few seconds, the last seconds he’d get with the only person with whom he’d ever been in love. 

Then Richard winked. It was a salacious, suggestive wink, hinting at all the future mischief Severin and his phantom mate would get up to. It seemed so forward for Richard that Severin was momentarily shocked silent by it. 

In that moment, Richard was out the door. He was gone before Severin could process it. 

In a flash, he’d left. 

“Goodbye,” Severin said softly, looking in disbelief at the place where Richard had just been. He touched it, first with one hand. Then feeling it desperately with both, resting his head over it. As if he could collect the last, fading remnants of Richard’s warmth. 

He couldn’t, though. They were intangible. 

So soon, everything he cared about was gone. 


	18. Scream

The rhythm of the Tube: Jarring, jolting, jerking, halting. The murmur of voices, the constant announcements. Doors would open on the left side, a woman’s voice told them all. The lighting – did Richie hear it buzzing? He focused on that, trying to decide. Couldn’t. The coldness of the bar he held. Sometimes it was warm from where a stranger had last held it. He never liked that. Felt germy. His sweater. Sleeves kept falling down. He wore this sweater for Severin today. Severin seemed to – 

The announcements. Doors would open on the left side. No, he knew that, had just thought about that. Oh, something new: How many stops did he have left? Good thing to think about. That changed frequently. Eight stops. Eight stops now. The train car was slowing. Seven stops. He could just keep thinking about this, focusing on the stops, until there weren’t any stops. Then he’d have to get himself out of the station, and aboveground, and all the way to Jim’s. It sounded immeasurably complicated. Six stops. 

“Excuse me. Are you alright?” An alpha with a Cockney accent approached him. She was the third alpha to ask him that. Older alphas were so nice and protective over omegas. It was so kind that anyone should care about how Severin – 

“I’m fine!” Richie chirped. He widened his smile even farther, as far as it would go. “I’m really, really great! Thanks for asking!” 

The alpha only looked more concerned, but she didn’t press. As she walked by Richie to take her seat, Richie caught a glimpse of his reflection in the car window. His smile was broken; he looked cracked. 

Five stops. Wow! Five whole stops, still. Let’s see. Richie tried to list them all from memory. He could. He estimated the number of seconds it’d take to get from stop five to stop four, and then counted out the seconds in his head. He even came a little close! 

So many things to think about. Four whole, long stops.

  


Richie didn’t talk to anyone else on his way home, didn’t stop for any reason. He had to fumble with his key for the longest time, but once he locked Jim’s front door behind himself, he proceeded to the bedroom. His heart was thumping. His smile was gone. He’d been alert to every detail outside, but now it was like the world was closing in. He saw black, literal blackness. 

_I’d like to have a backyard, maybe._

He screamed. 

It gashed through him. 

He was pressed against the closed bedroom door, screaming. It bounced off the walls and hit him, his own voice bloodcurdling. The scream lasted too long, longer than his lungs were able to handle, louder than an omega was able to get. 

His soul screamed. 

It wasn’t a word, just a single, cacophonic note that slashed on without end. It was the sound of something precious being torn. 

He looked up and saw himself in Jim’s dresser. He was still screaming. How long had it been? Ages. London was gone now. Apocalypse. 

There wasn’t even any thought behind it, he thought. He’d think later, he thought. He’d think about how, since Severin couldn’t have Richie’s everything, he took it all away. How Richie should have trusted his brother, not an alpha. He couldn’t think right now, he thought. About how stupid – how god damn – how fucking – 

He hated those words. 

Stupid. **STUPID.**

Asking for a backyard from someone who – 

Whom he loved. 

The scream renewed itself. 

Maybe he could stay here, alone in this room, forever, screaming. As long as he could go on making this noise, he could bear it.


	19. Brother

A cold hand cupped his cheek. 

“O. Richie…” An omegic, feminine voice. Then sharper: “Get out of the room, please. He needs space!” 

“Are you - ?” A second voice. 

“Yes, I’m sure. Out!” 

Richie didn’t recognize the voice until it was barking. He murmured, “O. Sally…”

O. Sally Donovan’s image loomed over him. She was in her uniform. Why would… His tired mind struggled. It was like thinking through fog. Why would Sally be in Jimmy’s flat? Why would she be here on duty? 

He sat up. 

She was here to arrest him. 

“Get away from me!” He pushed at her, rolling out from under her as he’d been taught. It was no use for him to try to fight; he had no strength in him. He had to dodge, roll, evade. Escape. He looked at the windows. Jimmy’s flat was on the sixth floor. 

“O. Richie, it’s fine,” Sally said. “A neighbor called. They heard you screaming and thought an omega was being murdered. You’re lucky just a beta heard you – an alpha would have stormed in here.” She stopped, seeming to realize that he wasn’t processing most of what she was saying. She continued, more slowly, “I found you passed out here, on the floor. Red in the face. You look… O. Richie, I think you need to go to the hospital. You look sick.” 

Then he remembered. 

Heartsick. Soulsick. Severin Moran. Severin Moran. Severin Moran. 

Had left him. 

Sally stood, raising her arms as if in surrender, even though, like all omega police officers, she couldn’t be armed. She looked at him like he was a feral animal. 

“Did someone try to hurt you?” she asked. “Did someone break into this flat?” 

Richie shook his head once; a minute movement. He couldn’t speak. His throat was swollen closed, he was sure of it. 

“Good.” Sally looked relieved. “Why were you screaming, then?” 

Richie could only shrug. His shoulders were heavy; reluctant to move. Everything ached. 

Sally seemed curious, but they weren’t close enough, as friends, for her to pry. She said, “I don’t have long. The other police officers are waiting outside. Mostly betas. But I have a message to deliver. I’ll keep it brief.” 

Richie opened his mouth and said, “Okay,” but the word wouldn’t come out. He wasn’t sure how he was standing. 

“I just spoke to him,” she said. For a wild moment, Richie thought she meant Severin. 

She carried on, oblivious, “He just received an insider report and they’re planning to take you into custody. They think you have a mate, and this mate is going to try to accompany you to the West London Clinic. They’ll arrest you there,” she said. “If you don’t go, however, he thinks you’ll be fine. At least for now. They’re still reluctant to make a public arrest.” 

Richie knew he should be scared. Should wonder who they thought was his mate, and why this mate would take him to some clinic. 

Instead he was hollow. Felt nothing. 

“And,” she said, “he wants you to know that he can offer you protection. There are four more days left, and he’s still hoping you’ll change your mind. You know where to find him.” 

Richie tried to shake his head. Couldn’t. Neck stiff. Just stared at her. 

Sally sighed as if he had responded. She said, “I know. Your brother. Should I pass that along? That we’re going to lose one of our most valuable players just because they can’t say goodbye to their brother?” 

She let Richie stare at her, although she seemed to know that waiting for a response was futile. 

Richie wasn’t sure how long it took, but eventually someone knocked on the door. The door opened without either of them saying anything. 

“He alright?” a gruff, betic voice inquired. 

“I did a check-up. No concussion, perfectly sound. Says there wasn’t anyone in the flat. False alarm,” Sally said. Her professional police officer voice turned on again. She was a good undercover, Richie thought dully. 

“Goodbye, O. Brook,” she said, in a voice that implied they were strangers. 

The sound of police boots marching out of the flat. A door closing. 

Richie said, in delayed response, eyes still boring into the place where Sally had stood, “I can’t leave my big brother. He’s all I have.” 

_He’s all I’ve ever had._

  


Richie didn’t realize it was dark until he heard voices enter the flat. Jimmy and Seb. 

Their voices intertwined. Richie couldn’t make out the words, but he recognized the cadence: old lovers, words swaying back and forth, their conversation material more domestic than either of them would ever admit. 

Richie cried out. He didn’t mean to sob, but it flooded out of him. He crashed to the floor – how long had he been standing? Since Sally was here? That’d been hours, surely, days ago. 

The door swung open. Seb rushed into the room. 

“Richie,” he said. 

Richie’s sobbing was violent. There were too many tears; he couldn’t see. He felt like a puppet, a marionette doll whose strings had been cut. He was unraveling. 

Seb scooped Richie up into his arms. There was a time when Seb’s embrace had seemed large, comforting. The largest Richie knew. Now it seemed merely betic. 

Still. Seb held him tight. 

“He loves you,” Seb whispered. “He loves you, Richie, I promise.” 

Who? He – Sally’s ‘He?’ Jimmy? 

Seb squeezed even tighter. Why so tight? Was he trying to keep Richie’s limbs from falling off? 

He was. He was helping Richie to not unravel, keeping his body parts from scattering all over the floor. Richie burrowed his face in the crook between Seb’s neck and shoulder. Disappeared into that small shelter. 

Next was Jimmy, and he didn’t ask any questions. He hugged Richie, too, so tight. 

“I’ll let you cry today,” he said, “but not tomorrow. You don’t need an alpha when you have us.” 

Was that true? No. No, it wasn’t. 

How could Richie explain? He _did_ need Severin. It wasn’t about his body. It wasn’t because Seb’s embrace wasn’t big enough, or because Jimmy couldn’t fuck him right. How could he – how could he explain? His soul ached for Severin. His soul screamed and whined and howled for Severin. 

“Shhh,” Seb said. “Shhh, Richie. You can be quiet. Shhh.” 

Richie had been blabbering, he realized. Not words; sobs that tried to form words, and dissolved halfway. Scary noises. 

Sorry, he wanted to say. Instead he choked on his own phlegm. 

Seb wiped Richie’s wet mouth with his tie. He didn’t let go the entire time. 

Neither of them let go. 

  


He didn’t sleep, but he lay in a bed. Two bodies tight on either side of him, his face pressed against his brother’s bare chest. Kept thinking, _This is my old life._ Felt like a traveler come home again, only to find home unchanged and unsatisfying. 

How was he expected to feed off of morsels and call it a feast, when for the first time he had known the feast? 

“Shh.” That was Seb’s voice, in his ear. As if Seb could feel his thoughts. Or, more likely, feel the way his heartbeat escalated, hear his breaths quicken. “Shh.” 

They loved him. They loved him and, throughout the night, they wouldn’t let him go. 

Sleeplessly, Richie closed his eyes. 

  


Except one did let him go. 

When he opened his eyes, the room was wrapped in early sunlight. He’d been flipped around, so that his face was pressed into Seb’s chest. Seb held him tight with both arms. As if trying to make up for the missing person. 

Richie hadn’t slept. He’d been unconscious, but he hadn’t slept. His soul was drained and weary. 

He slipped out of Seb’s hold, not waking him. He hadn’t meant to not wake Seb. He was so small that his weight and size barely affected a thing. He looked at Seb sadly, as if hoping, before he left the bedroom, that he might wake up. 

Richie made his way to the living room. There was his big brother, laptop on his thighs, typing away. He didn’t glance at Richie as Richie sat beside him on the couch. Richie drew his legs up, chin on his knees, arms around himself. Holding tight to keep from coming apart. 

He watched Jimmy, typing and typing. Waited to be acknowledged. 

In case Jimmy hadn’t seen him come in, he announced himself. He said, “Tea, please.” 

The words were rough. The first he’d spoken in many hours. 

Jimmy glanced at him. “Yes – could you? Just the black tea, now.” 

Richie paused. He felt a pang to his chest. Was that hurt? It was hard to tell, compared to all the other great hurts he was bearing. 

How many times, recently, had his big brother made him morning tea? And now that he really needed it – now that he was all unglued and needed something hot flowing through him, linking all of him together again – Jimmy didn’t do it? 

“Won’t you make us tea?” he said, desperate. Voice louder, now. 

“Hm?” Jimmy said, eyes unmoving from his screen. “Oh, darling, I’m so busy. Make cups for both of us.” 

Richie didn’t move. Eventually Jimmy looked at him. He tsked. 

“Don’t be hurt, darling. We can drink together while I work. Come on, now.” He went back to typing. 

“You always make me tea.” Richie put his hand to his bottom lip, to stop it from quivering. “Whenever I’m here, you make me tea. When I was at – at – when I was gone, you came and made me tea. You even told Se…Se…” He swallowed it down. “You even gave Seb’s brother the tea I like. You told him to make it for me! I haven’t made tea in the morning in weeks and weeks.” 

The more he spoke, the closer he felt to crying. Everything was changing, everything he loved was gone. Why wouldn’t Jimmy just make him tea? 

Jimmy typed quickly. He seemed unmoved. “Yes, well, you don’t need that kind of tea anymore. So make black for me. I said that.” His lip twitched. “Don’t make me repeat myself. Make yourself whatever you’d like. Anything.” 

“No,” Richie said, feebly. No, no, no, no. Why couldn’t Jimmy stop working? Why wasn’t anyone holding him? Then, repeating Jimmy’s words in his head, he said, “What do you mean? ‘That kind of tea.’ What kind?” 

“Heat suppressant tea.” Fingers danced so light across his keyboard. 

It took many moments for the words to sink in. When meaning filled them, Richie said, “Heat suppressant. Heat suppressant tea?” 

“Mm.” Was Jimmy listening? 

“You were putting suppressants in my tea?” Richie didn’t mean for his voice to get so loud, but it did. Which was good, maybe, because Jimmy answered him properly. 

“Yes, of course I was. Obviously.” Jimmy sneered at his computer. Richie wasn’t sure if this was related to what he was saying or something he saw on his screen. “Your big brother wasn’t going to let you play with an alpha unprotected, was he?” Jimmy said. 

Richie relaxed. Perhaps Jimmy had assumed Richie knew about it. Assumed he had Richie’s permission. Heat suppressants… Richie didn’t know much about them. They were dangerous, and illegal. They altered your body more than birth control – were worse contraband than birth control, even. 

To assume that Richie was okay with drinking a heat suppressant was a terrible miscommunication. But he could simply let Jimmy know that, and Jimmy could apologize and admit he’d thought Richie knew. They could both say sorry, and hug, and keep hugging, like before…

“You thought I knew?” Richie asked. “That I was drinking heat suppressants?” 

“Hm? Oh, no, of course not.” Kept typing, typing. “You would have been terribly upset.” 

Bile. Was that bile Richie tasted? Was he going to throw up? 

“You intentionally gave me heat suppressants without telling me,” Richie said. 

Still, an apology. He wanted an apology. 

But he’d lost Jimmy’s interest. Jimmy leaned into his computer screen as if he were going to dive into it, away from Richie and Richie’s problems. 

Richie felt faint. Room blurred. Spun. Spinning. Was he spinning? He couldn’t see anything. He could feel his big brother, beside him, warm and small and solid and indifferent. And his stupid laptop, fan whirring, hot from overuse. Sucking all the attention, all of Jimmy’s affection. 

Richie shouted. A wordless, desperate plea. 

He jumped up, not sure what he would do, where he would go. That unbearable fan. It was so loud – how could Jimmy stand it? He hated it. He _hated_ it. 

He rushed forward, snatched it up. Not just the fan, but the whole laptop. He hauled it above his head. It was so heavy, he was so tired of being weak. 

It soared across the room. He’d done that. Thrown it. Made it soar. It broke, when it landed. Made a cracking noise. He’d done that, too. 

Jimmy got up, not to see to Richie but to inspect the damage. Not Richie’s damage – the computer’s. 

Richie was on him in seconds. He bit; he scratched; he clawed, all at Jimmy’s face. He was so loud, he was squawking. He was making awful noises. 

Do you see this, Jimmy? Do you see what noises I can make? Do you see how I can break your things? 

Do you see me? 

Strong arms tugged around his middle. For a moment he thought they were Severin’s. Thought that was all he had to do to stop this: Exist, a bit harder, and Severin would come back. 

Seb had him up off the floor, legs kicking at nothing. Richie saw Jimmy below him, a thin streak of blood on his cheek, like a cat had sliced him. Seb was holding Richie with both arms and pressing light kisses on his head and his ears. 

A clapping sound, and an explosion of pain across Richie’s left cheek. Jimmy slapped him. 

Never, ever, had Jimmy slapped him before. 

“How _dare_ you?” Jimmy snapped. Richie wasn’t kicking now. He was looking, open-mouthed, at Jimmy, aghast. “My obedient, omegic brother. How _dare_ you.” 

Jimmy stepped forward, but Richie stepped back. No, that was Seb stepping back. Seb was his legs right now. He was grateful; if Seb dropped him, he would fall, unable to get up. 

“Stop it, Jim,” Seb said. “He’s upset, he needs us.” 

“He shouldn’t have tried to leave us, then. He can’t just come back here and touch my laptop.” Jimmy’s eyes were fiery and black. He looked like he wanted to slap Richie again. Would slap – and kick, and punch – if Seb weren’t holding Richie. 

Jimmy said, “Take him to the bedroom. Punish him. However you like, I don’t care. Teach him not to misbehave.” 

Orders given, Seb marched off, taking Richie with him. 

  


As soon as he was dropped down, Richie ran from Seb’s grasp. He dashed to the bathroom, closed the door, locked it, pushed up the toilet seat. 

“Richie.” Seb was already knocking on the door. 

Leave me alone! Alone, alone, alone, fingers down his throat. Heat suppressant in his veins, in his veins for weeks. Kept him from mating with Severin. Kept him insufficient, kept them both yearning. Would they have mated, if not for Jimmy? Yes, yes, of course. It wouldn’t have been voluntary, but it would have happened, and Severin wouldn’t have left him. 

How many times had Richie told Severin he felt like he was going into heat? He'd insisted, but Severin had never listened. No one listened. He was right. He was on the brink of it, always, around Severin, but the tea kept him from crossing that brink. When Richie had been gone for six days, with Sally Donovan and the others, he hadn’t been taking the tea. Then, when he got back, Severin had been able to orgasm. Because Richie must have been so close, by that time, to having all the heat suppressant out of his system. Severin's body could sense it. 

How many times would his body have gone into heat, if it hadn’t been for Jimmy? How many times could Severin have taken him by now? 

Richie gagged. Needed to get it out. Go to Severin. He didn’t want Jimmy, didn’t want to see him ever again. He was violated, invaded, had had his body and his decisions taken from him. 

He gagged again. He hadn’t eaten in so long. He dry heaved. Seb was still knocking. Kicking, now. His middle burned with the effort of dispelling the poison. Where had Jimmy even gotten it? Where did Jimmy get his birth control – Seb’s guns? Why did Seb need guns? 

Jimmy kept everything from him. 

His whole hand, this time, pushing past his throat. He retched. 

A banging and a rush of air as the door gave in to Seb’s intimidation, overruling its own lock. Seb was around him in a second, forcing his hand from his mouth. He held Richie’s wrists behind Richie’s back as Richie thrashed and pulled. Not that it was any use. Too weak; too omegic. 

“It’s too late,” Seb said. “It’s in your bloodstream, Richie. You can’t get it out.” 

The way he spoke. Like he knew. Knew all about this. 

“Did you know?” Richie asked, quietly. He couldn’t tell if he was crying or not, anymore. “Did you know it was in me?” 

Seb sighed and turned Richie around, letting go of his wrists. He hugged him tight. 

“Jim did it because he cares,” Seb said. “Would you have wanted to go into heat around Severin? With both of you alone and no one to stop you from changing your lives, without being able to think about it first? Would you – ” 

“HE DIDN’T EVEN ASK.” When had Richie learned to shout so loud? 

He looked Seb in the eyes, searching for some trace of Severin. Severin would be outraged by this, when he found out. 

But Richie could see. Seb approved of the decision. The hiding, lying, sneaking. Using Richie’s body like Richie had no say in anything at all, not even in things that concerned primarily him. 

He hated him. He hated the Moran brothers. 

Neither of them knew what it was like to be an omega. To feel like his soul was wild, clawing at his insides. 

_I want to die._

The decision was sudden and resolute. He made his face go blank, revealing nothing. He would assure Seb that he was fine, and have Seb leave him alone. 

He would have to do it in this bathroom. Otherwise Jimmy and Seb would hear, come and find him. He would have to drown himself. 

But drowning seemed too peaceful. His soul would reject a death like that – it’d escape from his body, and wreak havoc. He needed to set fireworks off at his chest. He needed to be shot so many times in rapid succession that even his soul would die. 

He wondered, if he died, if Severin would feel it. 

After Severin mated, would he even care? 

“Richie,” Seb said cautiously, breaking him from his reverie. “Richie, you’ve gone slack. I’m going to bring you to the bedroom, okay?” 

“No,” Richie said. He pushed away Seb and stood on his own. “I am…” He bit his tongue. He wasn’t going to stutter through this, or backtrack. He knew exactly what he wanted to say. “I’m angry,” he stated clearly. “I’m angrier than I’ve ever been. And I’m going for a walk.” 

He didn’t wait for Seb to respond. He left the bathroom. As he passed through the living room, he saw that he mustn’t have broken Jimmy’s laptop after all, because it was on Jimmy’s lap again. They didn’t acknowledge each other. 

Richie put on his shoes and his coat, collected his wallet, and left. He knew, within the absolute essence of himself, that he wasn’t coming back. 

  


He didn’t know where to go. He made for Severin’s flat. He had no one, really. First Severin chose an invisible mate over him. Then Jimmy and Seb betrayed him. He needed time to think of where to go, and for now he’d go to Severin. It would take him a long time to walk, without the metro. 

Blocks passed. He was choosing one person who didn’t value him over two people who didn’t value him. He was choosing one person who valued a fantasy over two people who valued each other, and excluded him in the act. Was that the right choice? Did he have a choice? 

“Oh. My. God.” A voice stopped him in his tracks. He knew who this was instinctively. His fans all had a special tone of voice, when they spotted him in the street. 

An omega girl rushed forward. 

“You’re O. Richie Brook,” she said excitedly. “Me and my brother love you! Your last performance was so, so edgy.” 

“Thank you,” he said numbly. He looked at her, but her features blurred into a kind of mush of all the fans’ faces that had come before her. 

“I have your magazine in my bag. You and Baptiste on the AlphaMan cover. Could you sign it?” 

“Of course,” he answered. A pen was placed in his hand. He scribbled at a glossy page. The page and pen were taken away. 

“I completely loved that photo shoot,” she continued. “It’s so amazing that you got to meet Baptiste Dubois. It’s so amazing that he got to meet you! Are you two friends?” 

Friends. Richie thought about it, momentarily distracted. He'd spent so much time with Dubois, lately, but Dubois was more like a boss, his leader, his trainer. 

“Not really,” he said. 

“Oh. Well still! It’s so cool! Thank you!” Both of them sensed it was time to part ways, and did. 

_…he can offer you protection. You know where to find him._

Richie took a turn at the next block. He wasn’t walking in the direction of Severin’s flat, anymore. He wasn’t going to Severin’s flat. 


	20. Return

Paris. When he entered the city and stepped out of the army Jeep, he found it as rickety and patched-up a city as he’d left it. The streets were bumpy with uneven cobblestone. The sky was its eternal gray, so filled up with cigarette smoke and bomb debris. Severin’s mood was reflected in the very geography of the city, with its winding, labyrinthine alleyways and hostile French civilians, who haunted the streets in a ghostly, uneasy quiet. 

His chest hurt. 

When the plane had lifted off, he’d kept his eyes on the ground for as long as possible, seeing London eventually give way to sky. Leaving felt wrong. He didn’t give a fuck about London, but in that city was Richard, and the farther Severin was from him, the more his soul yanked and tugged, as if searching in vain for its other half. 

No, that’s not how it was. It wasn’t like his soul united with Richard’s to become a more ultimate whole, as if he’d met his “better half.” It was like his soul had mingled with Richard’s, and Richard’s with his, and now the two were difficult to distinguish and definitely not supposed to be hundreds of miles apart from one another. 

People were barking orders, and his tight uniform scratched him with every movement. Stepping into the uniform during the flight had felt more natural than all the mornings he’d gotten dressed in civilian clothes in London, and yet nothing had ever been more loathsome. The uniform was, even more than being in Paris itself, a definitive symbol of Severin’s new status in life. His old status. 

More than once in his pessimistic brain he’d dare to think of the worst thing that could happen to him. It was being re-drafted. 

Now, here he was. 

“Onwards, alphas. Let’s GO!” The commander who pushed Severin and a group of young newbies forward was the type who had two tones: Barking and roaring. 

Unlike the teenaged alphas around him, Severin paid no mind to it. He was aware, though, of the alphas regarding him with a certain type of awe and respect. And hope, maybe, too. Because he’d endured twenty years of service. He’d survived, and even come back for more. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. 

_Oh, but it will be bad. And worse._

Severin couldn’t bear to tell them that. Because while these alphas should respect him, it shouldn’t be because he’d lived through the war so far, or because he was brave enough to come back. It should be because once, even after enduring a hellish childhood of being raised by a single alpha, and after living through two decades of brutalities, he’d managed to fall in love. 

But they didn’t need to know that. 

In fact, he wouldn’t tell anyone anything. Richard felt like a dream here. A faraway, pleasant dream he violently ached for – but somehow unreal. The pulling in his chest remained. Possibly it would fade. Or it would stay another layer of discomfort he’d have to become accustomed to. 

But, regardless, he wasn’t going to bring it up to any clinic doctor. No need to report an injured soul. 

* * * * 

The flat did not belong to Baptiste Dubois, but to an omega spy who helped his cause. Various spies across London opened their doors to him, where he would carry out his operations for several days. Then he’d switch locations, making it – so far – impossible for the government to gather enough evidence against him to deport him. Or execute him. 

Richie had been seated in a chair in front of a desk in the flat's office, waiting for Baptiste to arrive. As soon as Baptiste sauntered into the room, though, he picked Richie up and brought him to the large swivel chair behind the desk, dumping Richie on his lap. Baptiste was slim for an alpha, and the chair was alpha-sized, so Richie was able to wiggle off of his lap. He sat cramped beside Baptiste. As soon as he did, Baptiste linked an arm around Richie's neck. 

Richie didn’t like that. Not anymore. He didn’t want people picking him up like they had a right to, just because he didn’t weigh very much. 

“Allo, my dear,” Baptiste said, in his throaty way. “A certain informer tells me zhat you no longer ’ave your mate. Zhis is true?” 

Richie swallowed. His hands clenched his knees. He forced himself to look Baptiste in the eyes as he said: “He was never my mate.” 

His name wouldn’t come, still. Or if it did come, it would come with tears and tears. 

“I am glad. Iz zhat why you are ’ere? Because you are alone now?” Baptiste asked. “You want my ’elp now zhat you ’ave no one else?” 

Richie nodded. It was true. He wasn’t like the other omegas Baptiste had recruited. Not like O. Sally Donovan, who risked herself to keep the resistance informed on the activities of the London police, or like the doctor O. Watson, who was searching for the newspapers' links to arms dealers. 

“We should celebrate!” Baptiste said. “You do not need zhat mate. ’e was aggressive. Like an animal. And also,” Baptiste’s voice lowered to a croon, “I am so ’appy you are ’ere wiz me alone.” 

Baptiste’s eyes were a golden green, and seemed to delight in looking at Richie. 

“It is sad, for you, to be alone,” Baptiste continued in his throaty purr. A long, elegant finger traced its way from Richie’s temple, stopping at his chin. “You are too sweet, too beautiful to be alone.” 

Richie knew he was sweet. And beautiful, in a big-eyed, omegic way. But the words only made him feel like a growl was forming in his throat, as if he were an alpha. He didn’t _want_ to be sweet or beautiful, anymore. And while alphas may not care about giving Richie what Richie really wanted, he hadn’t come here to be sweet or beautiful. 

He came here to be a revolution. 

“Baptiste,” he said. He was whispering even though he wanted to shout. It was hard to speak up. “I came here to join your team. Fulltime. Like you wanted.” 

Baptiste nodded. He titled his head, a touch closer to Richie. His single finger was still poised beneath Richie’s chin. 

“Togezher. We can be togezher, work togezher. And you wouldn’t ’ave to be afraid, because I could protect you,” Baptiste said. “If I were your alpha.” 

Protection. 

How many times had Jimmy, Seb, and Severin sworn to protect Richie? And all of them had only hurt him. 

No one would protect Richie. Richie couldn’t expect that anymore. 

Baptiste leaned in. His finger slid down, drawing a light, sensual line from Richie’s chin to his neck. Richie shivered involuntarily, not because he liked it but because it sensitized his nerve endings. 

Although he knew Baptiste could easily swipe them aside, he rushed to press his hands against Baptiste’s chest. He pushed with all his strength. 

And, miraculously, Baptiste stopped. He didn’t pull away, but he wasn’t drawing in, either. 

“No,” Richie said firmly. “No, I don’t want that. I don’t want you. I want to work for you. For – for the anti-war efforts. You’ve trained me. Now give me a task.” 

Baptiste blinked. Richie waited with baited breath. The rest of the flat was filled with omegas. If Baptiste grew angry, would anyone try to help him? Would they be able to? 

Then: “Congratulations, Richie.” 

The words were said so thickly that Richie was sure he had misheard them. 

“S-sorry?” he said. 

“You passed my test,” Baptiste said. He got up and walked swiftly to the chair on the opposite side of the desk, taking a seat. Richie felt strange sitting alone in the oversized chair. “My first test, see, iz to make sure you ’ave your ’ead on well, yes?” Baptiste tapped his own skull. “You must not be always searching for alphas, for zhis and zhat, for all zhese people to protect you. Working wiz me is very dangerous. I cannot guarantee safety. But I need for _you_ to guarantee your time, always, to your work. To make fighting zhis war more important zhan your family or your mating schedule. Do you understand?” 

Richie nodded. He was trying to hide his smile from Baptiste. It was a small, weak smile – one reason to rejoice clashing with a thousand broken pieces inside him. But it was still there. 

For the first time since leaving Severin’s flat, he felt hope. 

“You are a very important player. One of zhe few omegas in all of England to ’ave fame and public influence. The government will not be quick to arrest someone like you, you see? You 'ave value,” Baptiste said. “But I needed assurance, first, zhat you would not run off with any alpha. And,” he added, wearing his signature, cheeky smile, “I know zhat if you can resist me, you can resist any alpha. Yes?” 

Baptiste laughed but Richie didn’t join him. 

“Tell me what I can do,” Richie said. “You’ve taught me so many things in the past few months, and now I’m ready to do something.” 

The humor slipped off of Baptiste’s face. He seemed all business now. Richie waited to hear about how he should pass out anti-propaganda pamphlets or write anti-war plays or, even, write an entire magnum opus on the tragedies of war. 

“I need for you, Richie Brook,” Baptiste said, “to go to Paris.” 

* * * * 

“So how long have you been in the army for?” 

Christ. Fucking Christ. Severin kept his eyes closed, fingers curled into his sheets to keep from punching the alpha who had a cot beside him. All of the new recruits were restless and unable to sleep. There was a world of difference between a sixeen year-old and an eighteen year-old. Severin had surely never been like this. 

“This is my twenty-first year.” Stating it aloud was like a nightmare. He never thought – never really thought, beyond the faintest imaginings – that he would say those words. 

“Wow. That’s a really long time. I don’t think I’ll do it that long,” said the alpha. 

Severin tilted his head on his pillow to look at her. She had long blonde hair. It was loose, right now, but she would either cut it off soon or learn to tie it back at all times. She must have presented recently, because while she was big-boned and structurally alphic, she still had baby chub around her cheeks. 

“You’ll do it for longer,” Severin said harshly. “Twenty-two years. That’s the new law.” 

It was cruel of him to mention that. He wanted her to shut up, though. There was something under his mattress, which he’d hidden there when no one was looking, and he wouldn’t be able to get it until all the lights were off and everyone was sleeping. 

“You think the war’s gonna go on for twenty-two more _years?”_ This was the alpha on the other side of him, another fucking sixteen year-old. 

Twenty-two years was longer than these soldiers’ entire current lifespan. The realization was sudden, and made Severin regret his words. 

“’Course it is.” Lights were turning out now, and the dark anonymity allowed other voices to drift into the conversation. This alpha sounded older – not a new recruit, then. 

“I thought…I thought maybe it’d end by then,” said the second teenager. 

Another teenager burst out through the dark: “I want to go home.” 

He sounded so scared. 

Maybe there wasn’t much difference between sixteen and eighteen years, in that regard. 

The older recruit snorted. “You want to go home? Then figure out how to end this fucking war.” 

That made everyone go quiet. 

  


As it turned out, Severin didn’t need to wait for the barrack to fall asleep. Half of the bunk beds were full of new kids, and they weren’t sleeping tonight. Their tossing and turning, getting up and pacing, made it possible for Severin to get out of bed and fetch what he’d put beneath his mattress. 

If anyone saw Richard’s handmade afghan laid out over him, they’d take it. But Severin had stuffed it inside the pillowcase Richard had used at his flat. It was made from scent-retaining material, and together the two items had taken up the entirety of his luggage bag. 

He didn’t care. This was all he wanted. 

Besides Richard. 

He pressed the pillowcase against his face. Breathed in. 

It was better than the memory of Richard’s scent. Better, and worse. He had no doubt that he missed London more than every soldier in the barrack combined. No one else’s soul was tugging for home. 

If they wanted to go home, the war would have to end. 

Strangely, he’d never thought of that before. He wasn’t even sure what the end game was for the British army. Formally, they wanted to liberate all French omegas from the brutality of French alphas. Actually, Severin had never witnessed this brutality and had never known anyone directly involved in solving it. 

_Figure out how to end this fucking war._

Hmm… Severin inhaled. 

How to end it, Richard? What could he do? 

If you tell me, Richard, I swear I’ll come back to you. 


	21. Promotion

Richie was able to tell himself, in a step-by-step manner, how he ended up in the bottom of a cargo ship that was hauling tons of weapons across the English channel, and yet no matter how much sense the linear progression of events made, his setting became no less surreal. Baptiste had spent days convincing him to leave London, and now, somehow, he had. 

And so far, he was uncaught. 

The clanking and stomping from the deck echoed in tremendous waves overhead, louder than any ocean waves sloshing against the ship. Richie stayed curled up in fetal position, behind a stash of metal crates. 

He’d been put there by an aged English alpha named James Smith. He’d been a well-mannered, competent alpha who spoke with Received Pronunciation and hadn’t told Richie how he was connected to Baptiste, or why. But if Baptiste trusted him, then Richie did, too. 

Richie was on his own now. For days in London his chest had tugged horribly, and although it wasn’t like a traditional queasiness, Richie assigned his nervousness to it. 

Perhaps, though, he was braver than he thought. Because the closer the ship sailed to France, the better he felt. The yanking in his chest was lessening, as if, somehow, being in France was just _right._ Richie still wasn’t sure what he was doing. But if he went by his feelings, this was the right thing to do. 

He wondered if his brother was worried. Had Severin found a nice house in the country yet? Richie returned, fondly, to his memory of Severin giving Richie a tour of his new flat. Maybe that flat was empty now. 

Wherever Severin was, Richie hoped he was happy. 

* * * *

Severin was going to fucking kill someone. 

He remembered that war wavered between lulls of listless boredom, the waiting, and then bang! into battle, into the thirst for blood. 

But it’d been a week and he’d just done the fucking bored stuff. The same fucking drills. Only he was stuck with a load of fucking teenagers who couldn’t get a thing right. He had to listen to hours of screaming that wasn’t aimed at him, but still made his god damn eardrums want to burst. 

He felt like dynamite that’d been lit. There was a fuse gradually making its way to explosion, and it took a week to happen, but then it did. 

He snapped. 

It was the fucking crack of dawn and he was showering, in a stall amongst other stalls, all filled with young alphas whose skin couldn’t even bear the dirty, dredged up, freezing water the Paris bases provided. 

Cold fucking water. 

_This wasn’t supposed to be his life anymore._

He roared. He shouted, a wordless fit of rage. He reached for the fucking forsaken showerhead and tore it off. 

Water squirted everywhere, high water pressure, smacking him in the open eyes. He dropped the showerhead and punched, smashing a hole through the wall. 

He was too old for this shit. He was old and he was supposed to be home right now, just waking, to Richie in his arms. They were supposed to take hot showers together because that’s what they _did_ and this FUCKING war – 

“Moran!” That was his commander. His shower curtain was swiped aside. 

He was too angry to fucking see. But he turned around and aimed another punch, and someone punched back. A fist hit him in the gut, pulling out a grunt, and yes: He wanted that. The pain. So much better than the nothingness, the mindless drills, the boredom. 

He punched again, and there were more fists now. Someone grabbed him by his short, newly-shaved hair and yanked him from the stall. 

He was thrown on the ground and kicked. And kicked. And he didn’t fight back, he didn’t fucking care. Were the newbies enjoying the show? Did they want to go home now, were they scared? Well, that was too fucking bad, wasn’t it? 

He let himself be kicked, feeling his body inflame and bruise, until finally someone hit his head and he was out. 

* * * *

Richie was tired. Everything was dark, so he wasn’t sure what time it was. He was glad, right now, to be so small: The metal crate he’d been put in gave him ample room to stretch. He doubted Severin could even squeeze his legs into it, but he curled up just fine. 

The road the truck travelled on bumped more and more, telling Richie they were driving through dirt roads and countryside. He wished he could see; he wondered if it was beautiful. He didn’t know much about France, except for what Baptiste had told him. His lessons had mainly been about the French Revolution and not poetic descriptions of undulating hills and pastures. 

Richie yawned. Was it very early, or very late? He thought probably the former. 

He allowed himself, just for now, to close his eyes. He could drift off for a little while, right? Just until they got to the first British checkpoint? 

Just…just until then…

* * * *

Severin kept his eyes closed and his breathing heavy. Blankets were wrapped around him tight, too heavy and itchy. The air was cold and sterile, and around him he heard the rustlings and occasional moans of sick alphas in cots. 

The infirmary. 

As he saw it, it’d be best to remain here for as long as possible. When he awoke, he would either be beaten mercilessly for having punched a superior officer, or beaten mercilessly, to death, for having punched a superior officer. 

Death. 

The word had a ring to it. 

He wished, irrationally, that he could peer into the future. If he was going to live the rest of his life without ever seeing Richard again, then he’d open his eyes right now and take what was coming to him. If he would see Richard – even just once more – he’d try to figure some way out of this. 

Someone coughed. It didn’t sound like it came from a cot but from someone sitting beside his bed. Additionally, it didn’t sound like a sick cough, but like someone was trying to grab another’s attention. 

Severin opened his eyes. 

There was an alpha beside his bed. His eyes skipped her face and went to her badge: She was a sergeant. But not, as far as he knew, from this base. 

“I suggest you get out of bed, Moran, and come with me.” The alpha was an older woman whose skull was completely bare. There’d almost certainly been some reason to shave it – her hair charred from a fire, likely. She had cold, steely eyes and unusually straight lips. When she stood, she stood using only the muscles in her legs. Her arms were folded behind her back. 

Severin sat up, just to see what would happen. 

Immediately the room spun and he felt like he was going to heave. He forced it back, though, swallowing. 

He was numb, like his entire body had gone to sleep. 

“Christ,” the sergeant muttered. “I told the nurses not to dose you up too much on morphine. Those omegas are out of bounds.” 

The word ‘omega’ made him think of Richard, which made him momentarily pause. 

“Up, up, up,” said the sergeant. “We haven’t any time to waste.” 

She moved with utter efficiency, her arms still behind her back. Severin scrambled up and, through his dizziness, managed to follow. 

  


Severin had assumed she’d take him outside, somewhere she could punish him in public. Instead she took him to an empty office. He stood in front of the desk while she sat, and his chest sparked with sudden hope. 

If he wasn’t going to get beaten mercilessly, maybe he was going to be kicked out of the army. Considered unsound and unfit for combat. 

She began, wasting no time, “Your records say that, last January, you were offered the position of your dead commander and refused. Official records state that you wanted to go home once your draft time was over. And yet, here you are now.” 

She didn’t invite Severin to speak, so he said nothing. 

“Clearly something has changed. I don’t care what. I don’t have much time. This base needs a new lieutenant and we need someone reliable. With the exception of the several times you’ve refused promotion, you’ve shown every sign of good leadership. You should frankly be ashamed, Moran, of not contributing more after having been in the army this long. I’m offering you a position. Will you take it?” 

Severin opened his mouth, but no sound emerged. 

“Speak, Moran,” she snapped. Her bald head was so disarming. She looked snakelike. 

“I don’t have the training necessary to carry out duties as a sergeant, ma’am,” he said, realizing he didn’t know her name. 

“Obviously. If you accept this position, it’ll be my job to train you. You will lead this base with the advisement of the platoon-sergeant.” 

He stared at her. Promoted. 

Not beaten mercilessly. Promoted. 

He waited to care. To feel honored or worried or proud. It was all apathy. None of this mattered. This wasn’t the life he’d chosen, this was a role he was forced to take. 

He could tell that it would take more effort to deny the sergeant’s offer than to accept it. He was drained. Richard, Richard, Richard. None of this mattered. Lieutenant or lieutenant’s subordinate – it made no difference. 

“Speak, Moran,” she said again. 

“Yes,” he said. “Yes, I accept the position.” 

It made no difference. 

She smiled. “Excellent choice, Moran. You’ll receive a ceremony this evening.” 

Ceremony. Drills. It made. No. Fucking. Difference. 

“Dismissed,” she said. 

He turned and walked through the door, apathy accompanying him every step of the way. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My knowledge of military stuffs is confined to the first three sentences of the 'sergeant' and 'lieutenant' and 'platoon-sergeant' Wikipedia pages. Sadly, because fanfic is not my day job, I simply haven't the time to make it more convincing.
> 
> Please forgive me.
> 
> Also, sorry for typos.


	22. Omega

The snake sergeant’s name was Zandra Kairis. Severin kept forgetting the name of his platoon-sergeant. Well. It wasn’t so much that he forgot as he didn’t care. Not when they couldn’t agree on a single fucking thing he wanted. 

In his numbed state, he was surprised to realize there were things he wanted. 

“Absolutely not,” said the platoon-sergeant. He was a red-faced alpha with a buzz cut of white hair. The type of looney who stayed in the army decades after his draft period just because he wanted to. 

“Don’t shoot it down so quickly,” said Severin. “It has benefits – ” 

“ – no benefits beyond assuaging your old-man, gentleman nature, Moran,” interrupted platoon-sergeant White Hair. 

“Don’t interrupt me,” Severin growled. In unison Zandra ordered, “Don’t interrupt Moran.” 

Once Zandra was gone – when Severin’s training period was over – Severin would be the highest ranking officer in his small base. He couldn’t afford to have the narrow-minded advisor disrespecting him. 

“The benefits,” Severin continued, “are that the French will see us carrying out the ideology we promote both here and back home. Of the humane treatment of omegas. In addition, if you look at the cause of the major three uprisings we’ve seen in the last six months, you’ll notice that they mainly revolved around relatively petty complaints the French had regarding our treatment of civilians. Since any omega who takes to the streets to protest is a civilian, it would make sense to give our alphas the necessary training to arrest omegas in a suitable, gentle manner. The French would realize we respect them, and uprisings will lower.” 

White Hair looked to Zandra for permission to speak. Zandra looked at Severin. 

“Thoughts?” Severin said. 

“Bullshit,” White Hair responded promptly. “I don’t give a fuck what those fucking French think of us. Have you ever seen an uprising, Lieutenant? They’re – ” 

“I’ve been in this army for two decades,” Severin said dryly. “Don’t ask stupid questions. Continue.” 

White Hair cleared his throat. To Severin’s pleasure, he seemed mildly embarrassed. 

“They’re chaotic situations,” he said. “It takes enough time and power to get them under control. Our alphas can’t be wasting their time figuring out who’s an omega and who’s not, giving certain French rebels special treatment.” 

“It’s hardly difficult to tell the difference between an omega and an alpha,” Severin said flatly. “If our soldiers can’t do that, they should be sent home.” 

“Fine,” White Head permitted. “But what if we do use this ‘special omega training’ on our alphas? We arrest the sabotaging omegas all delicately, with little coos and coaxes? And then what? Should we get special equipment for dealing with the omegas, too? Softer handcuffs, so their little wrists don’t chaff? Maybe they should all have blankets in their cells – in case they get cold.” 

Severin ignored his mocking tone and said, “Yes. Maybe they should. Why not?” 

White Head looked seething. 

Severin continued, “For this entire war we’ve avoided arresting omegas at all. When I went on leave last January, not a single French omega had ever found their way to one of our base jails. I understand we’ve changed our policy. We’ll be handling omegas differently. But that’s no reason to go from zero to one hundred. I’m proposing an in-between.” 

Zandra spoke up. She rarely offered her opinions, unless Severin made a major blunder. But now she said, perhaps to cut an endless argument short, “It’s a good idea. If you can formulate the training, Moran, it should be done. French omegas will be handled with more care than non-omega rebels. Cleared?” 

“Cleared,” Severin agreed. 

Zandra continued to the next issue at hand. Something stupid about how much the new soldiers were demanding to eat. Like Severin cared. 

Everyone in the whole fucking world could starve. 

He leaned back in his chair as she spoke. That wave of apathy washed over him again. When she indicated it was time for him to speak again, he made up an opinion at random, fought for it, got it cleared by her. And they continued through a long list of problems Severin couldn’t care less about. 

* * * * 

Richie stood when James Smith entered the room. He wasn’t sure why he stood, but it seemed like the thing to do. James Smith was short for an alpha, but he was broad-shouldered and possessed the kind of demeanor that demanded a certain level of respect. He may have been the only English alpha to care about anti-war efforts, and that made him doubly intriguing. 

“Richie Brook,” he said, closing the office door. The room was inside the small hospital they kept up north, on the outskirts of Paris. It had a desk on wheels and two chairs on wheels, so that everything could easily be rolled aside when the hospital became filled, and this room needed to serve a medical purpose. 

When omegas ran things, most of the heavy objects were put on wheels. 

James Smith walked around the desk, taking a seat. His feet, from the alphic-sized chair, didn’t reach the floor. 

“I am so sorry I could not assist you after you were off the cargo ship, but you understand that I cannot risk myself in that way.” Richie liked his posh accent, so at odds with their makeshift surroundings. “I meant to meet with you sooner, but the demands of the English army kept me. My deepest apologies. Oh, please. Sit down.” 

Richie took his seat. 

“I commend your bravery, O. Brook. I trust that in the time between your arrival here and my own, you have been able to rest well?” 

“Yes,” Richie said, nodding. He’d been sleeping his nights on a hard cot, but he didn’t mind. What he’d minded was that, so far, no one had quite been able to tell him what he was supposed to _do._

“Excellent. Your routine sleep, I am afraid, may be put on hold for some time. You understand that I am here to assign to you a task? It is our dear Baptiste Dubois’s most ambitious project to date,” A. Smith continued. 

Richie nodded eagerly. “Whatever it is, I’ll do it.” 

A. Smith laughed. “That shall soon be tested.” He leaned down, opening a desk drawer. He pulled two objects out and lay them on the desk. 

A silver-metaled gun. A camera, black in color, that looked heavy and sturdy. Richie would likely need two hands to hold it. 

“These two objects,” James Smith said, gesturing, “will be your personal offense and your defense. Can you guess which one is the offense?” 

Richie pointed to the gun, not daring to actually touch it. 

James Smith chuckled. When he did, his bristly mustache quivered. 

“Yes, naturally,” he said kindly. “One hopes it will not have to be used, but you will receive the proper training for it, of course.” 

Richie blinked. Training for what? 

“I’ll have a bodyguard?” Richie said. The bodyguard would carry the gun while he used the camera? 

Richie knew what the camera was for. This Baptiste had discussed with him. It was why he’d agreed to come to Paris. 

“Unfortunately, no,” James Smith said. “We simply do not have the resources to protect all of our omegas. But many omegas have undergone our weapons training and emerged successfully.” 

“I won’t be successful, A. Smith,” Richie blurted. “I can’t shoot a gun. They’re…they’re really heavy. I’m sorry, but I can’t.” 

And they had kickback, right? Richie panicked, shifting in his seat, imagining trying to fire the gun and having it break his skull instead. 

“We cannot let anyone out on a mission until they have undergone this training. You will be grateful for it, I promise you. The training is thorough and will leave you confident. If it helps,” James Smith added, chuckling good-naturedly, “it left me so confident that I signed up for the British army.” 

“Huh?” Richie said. Then, he amended, “Pardon?” 

James Smith’s speech would wear off on him. 

“This was the very first course I took before going undercover,” James Smith said. 

“We give this training in England, too?” Richie asked. 

“Oh, no,” said James Smith. “Of course not. That would be far too risky.” 

Richie’s eyebrows furrowed. “How were you in Paris before you were in the army?” 

James Smith frowned. “I am not English.” 

Richie stared. 

James Smith’s mustache quivered again, with the beginning of a laugh. 

“I am French, O. Brook,” he said. 

Richie stared. 

“Ah, I see,” said James Smith suddenly, although Richie could not share his insight. “This is why you call me A. Smith? You think I am actually an English alpha?” 

“Well,” Richie hurried, “I mean, I assumed, maybe, that you were working under an alias.” 

“Oh, indeed. But I am not an ‘A’ at all, you see,” said James Smith. “I am a French omega.” 

Richie regarded James Smith, with his bulky, muscular form, apparent even from his clothes. He was short, it was true, but one could easily overlook it when one considered how sturdy and unshakable he seemed. How his very presence demanded respect. 

Richie said none of this. Instead he said, “But your English is so good.” 

James Smith gave a hearty laugh. “Yes, well, I do not think our dear Baptiste Dubois really even tries. So please do not compare us.” He regarded Richie, who said nothing. “You are surprised, though. But you will soon understand. It is amazing, I think, how little difference there actually is, between the omegic and alphic physiques, when their differences are not insisted upon.” 

Richie held his tongue, but he was thinking that James Smith was an exception, not the rule, and James Smith seemed to sense this. 

“You will be amidst the city of Paris soon,” he said, eyes gleaming. “You will see. Now, onwards.” 

He leaned forward, taking the gun and putting it away. Both of their attentions focused on the camera. 

“The weapon will be your offense, should you ever truly need it. But doubtlessly, as a conditioned omega, you are more comfortable with the defense. Your camera. Do you know how this will be your defense, O. Brooke?” asked James Smith. 

Richie shook his head. 

“You will turn it on. In this way, if a British soldier ever turns their attention on _you,_ you need only point the camera at them. Likely they will refrain from their habitual cruelties, if they know they are being recorded. 

“Of course,” James Smith continued, “your job is to, at all times possible, not alert them to their being filmed. I have seen a myriad of cruelties during my time in their service, but I am powerless to report any of it, lest my identity be discovered. My position in the army is too precious to the cause to sacrifice. But, from my position, I can assure you, O. Brooke, that there are deeds being done which the public needs to see. It is your job, my friend, to record them.” 

Richie looked at the camera again, then back at James Smith. O. James Smith. 

The camera looked heavy, from Richie’s point-of-view, but he doubted James Smith would require two hands to carry it. He wondered if, after his training, he still would. 

“Do you accept your task, O. Brooke? I know Dubois has informed you of its specifics, but I would still like to make sure you have not been wrongly pressured into this mission,” said James Smith. 

Richie looked up at him. The camera sat between them like a great and significant symbol. 

He said, “Yes. Yes, O. Smith. I accept.” 

* * * * 

The only time of Severin’s day that he really cared about was nighttime. 

He accepted his life in the army for the endless and hellish affair it was. Hope of it getting better had all but extinguished. It was true that, after his promotion, most of the minor annoyances had ceased to bother him. He no longer had to worry, for instance, about a fellow soldier stealing Richard’s afghan from him. 

But those annoyances had served as distractions from his yearning, and now many of them were gone. He negotiated with himself, then, to make life bearable: During the day, he would yearn as little as possible. Push it from his mind, and carry out the duties of lieutenant. Much of his day was performed robotically. Then, at night, he indulged. 

With Richard’s pillowcase beneath him and the afghan over him, he closed his eyes and imagined anything he wanted to imagine. It was not long before a linear narrative constructed itself inside his brain. He was a bit surprised by its vividness – normally his mind was not so good at constructing fiction. It was as if he were hijacking Richard’s talent, just for a half hour or so each night. 

He imagined he had just moved to the country with Richard. They had the type of old country home he didn’t particularly care for but that he knew Richard would love. In the back was a garden, and right now, tonight, Severin sat in the kitchen, which smelled like fresh herbs and the bread Richard was baking. He watched through the window as Richard dug up strawberries for their dessert. 

Severin wasn’t sure when strawberries were harvested, but in his fantasy it was summer. Summer, and hot and bright. Possibly they weren’t even in England, but somewhere south. 

Richard was on his knees in the dirt. He looked up suddenly and saw Severin through the window. Their eyes met, and they both laughed. As if to say, _Isn’t this wonderful?_ As if to say, _We love each other so much. We love each other so impossibly much._

_Isn’t it wonderful?_

* * * * 

The reason Richard didn’t mind his hard cot was because, at night, he would drift off to a fantasy. He wasn’t sure when it had started. He thought probably when he had first slept in the crate in the truck on his bumpy ride to Paris, a week before. But he quickly set about constructing an alternative reality, more detailed and complete than any he’d had before. 

It was August. The month of June, in his southern country home, had been splendid for his strawberries. Now he collected the remaining runners. He always thought summer-running fruit was the sweetest and juiciest, most rewarding for ripening late. He would feed them to Severin after dinner, perched on his lap with Severin’s arms around him. Severin would bite slowly, allow the juice to run down his lips. Richard would lick it off, and kiss him. He loved their nightly, strawberry-flavored kisses. 

He found a specially good strawberry for so late in the season: big and red with full green leaves. He put it into his basket and looked up, wishing Severin weren’t inside so that he could show him what he’d found. 

There was Severin. Through the window. 

Looking so handsome Richie’s heart could break, for the distance between them. 

Then Severin’s eyes met his, and he laughed. 

“Isn’t this wonderful?” he mouthed, although he knew Severin couldn’t hear him. 

“What’s wonderful?” someone asked, too loud and abrupt to be a part of his country surroundings. It wasn’t Severin. 

Richie opened his eyes. The bleak, white walls of the hospital came into view. 

A nurse on his break was looking at Richie. 

“Nothing,” Richie said, feeling a hollow pit in his stomach. He squeezed his eyes shut. 

Severin was back in England right now, living his life in the country without Richie. He probably had a great, beautiful house Richie would never see. 

For Richie, nothing was wonderful. 


	23. Mission

The driver was an omega. She was the first omega driver used by the military ever, as far as Severin knew. Like the rest of today’s project, employing her had been Severin’s idea. 

Severin’s ideas were being tested today. 

In the backseats were three alphas – his best soldiers, which meant they were the best at following orders. They’d all passed his course in the Ethical Training for the Treatment of Omegas – ETTO – too, which was the most important thing. 

The car turned a corner. It was a small car, not meant to intimidate. It fit easily through the narrow, back streets of Montmartre. To this day the English avoided planting a base on the hill, and it remained one of the most beautiful parts of Paris. Which was why Severin didn’t want to drive an ugly army Jeep through it. 

Severin saw the building from afar: An old warehouse disused by the English but, unfortunately for French rebels, still periodically inspected. Severin felt almost guilty as he got out of the car, leading his alphas. He was invading the private space of a group of omegas. It seemed monstrous, even if they were planning something against the occupying forces.

Severin could feel civilian eyes on him as he went through the street. He felt self-conscious of his alphas’ brutal stomping, at odds with the delicate beauty of Montmartre. He was detested by these strangers and didn’t think that was unjustified. When had he stopped feeling loyal to the British army? 

After coming here for the second time, he supposed. He hadn’t chosen to do this. If the army forced people to work for them and pushed them into promotions, any wavering loyalty on behalf of the coerced was at the fault of the army. Still, he kicked down the warehouse door. He hoped it wouldn’t hit a poor omega as it came down. 

The door fell with a clang, and no one was in the immediate front of the warehouse. 

“Split up,” Severin ordered. “One alpha per floor.” 

The young, female alpha he’d spoken to on his first night in the barrack, prior to his promotion, reached for her gun. Gaskall. In the last several months training had taken its hold on her: Her baby chub was replaced by severe cheekbones; her hair was in a tight ponytail; her body was a mass of muscle. 

“First rule of ETTO?” Severin said harshly. 

Gaskall’s hand froze on her belt. She stood perfectly straight and saluted. 

“No use of weapons on omegas, sir,” she recited. 

“Proceed.” Severin gestured inside the warehouse. 

“Question, sir,” she said. 

“Permission to speak,” Severin said. 

“Shouldn’t we be in groups of two, sir? For when we find the omegas, sir?” 

Severin raised his eyebrows. “You really think it’ll take more than one alpha to keep a couple of omegas in line? They’re not going to fight back. They’re omegas.” 

She saluted again. “Understood, sir.” 

Severin frowned as the soldiers began to search the floor, two of them heading up the stairs. After a moment, he decided to follow Gaskall. She proceeded to the second floor. Severin followed behind, footsteps soft, no doubt making her self-conscious as she swung open door after door, peering through empty, dust-covered rooms. This warehouse mustn’t have been used in decades. 

When she opened the sixth door, a gunshot was fired. 

Not by Gaskall. She ducked automatically, reaching for her own gun. She pulled it out and stood at the side of the door. 

“Weapons down or I shoot!” she shouted. 

Severin rushed forward, reaching for his firearm. Were there French alphas here after all? There must be. Under no circumstances were the soldiers supposed to fire at omegas. 

Before Gaskall could do anything, a tiny body launched itself out of the room, narrowly avoiding Gaskall. Gaskall fired frantically, missing. The sound echoed through the hallway, making Severin’s eardrums pound. 

Severin leaped forward just before the omega shot past him. Severin gripped him carefully. 

“Wait one moment,” Severin said. “We’re not here to hurt you.” 

The omega looked up at him with big, brown eyes. He looked so scared and fragile. Severin’s heart could melt. 

And it was obvious, from the lack of comprehension on his face, that he didn’t speak English.

As he struggled against Severin’s grip, which was easy for Severin to maintain, Severin breathed. Okay. He couldn’t let Gaskall hear him speak French. If she reported it to a superior officer, he’d be tried for treason – lieutenant or not. 

He went to his knees and whispered softly, _“Vous n'êtes pas en état d'arrestation. Nous avons simplement besoin de vous prendre pour un interrogatoire.”_

The little omega looked up at Severin, lips parting in surprise. Whether he was surprised by Severin’s statement – the omegas would not be arrested – or by Severin speaking French, Severin wasn’t sure. 

Another gunshot rang out. 

Severin and the omega both looked toward Gaskall. A gun had been thrown across the floor, was still sliding, as Gaskall violently launched herself atop a second omega. 

The omega screeched, fell down, reached for the gun that had skidded meters away. He writhed, trying to wiggle out from between Gaskall’s knees. 

Gaskall punched the omega in the stomach. 

Severin released his own omega. He had no idea how many more omegas were in the sixth room. He couldn’t see them from this distance, and didn’t care. 

He ran to Gaskall, grabbed her by the neck, and hauled her off the omega. He punched her hard in the face. 

“Get downstairs,” he ordered through gritted teeth. 

“It’s not my fault!” she shouted, through a mouthful of blood. “That dirty little creature _shot_ at me.” 

“Get. Downstairs,” he said, “and I might consider taking your case to someone higher up. Otherwise, I’ll deal with you right now.” 

Raw energy flowed through his veins. He could kill her. 

She’d been through four months of training, and passed, and failed when it mattered. And the omega, the poor omega – 

He could kill her. 

She said nothing. She stood, clutching her bleeding face, and took for the stairs. 

Severin turned his attention on the hurt omega. 

_“Je suis désolé,”_ he said. _“Je vais commander mon chauffeur de vous conduire à l'hôpital.”_

The omega couldn’t look up at him. He was clutching his stomach, knees to his chin, eyes squeezed shut. Severin’s heart panged. 

_“S'il vous plait,”_ Severin said. _“Permettez-moi de vous porter.”_

He reached down and, as gently as he could, took the omega in his arms. He glanced up, into the sixth room. 

At least a dozen more omegas were standing in the room. All of them had guns out and aimed, ready to fire. It was bizarre to see omegas holding weapons, but Severin said, _“Vous avez besoin de quitter, maintenant. Avant que d’autres soldats arrivent.”_

Severin took it slow on the stairs, not wanting to jostle the omega. When he arrived at the bottom floor, his soldiers were waiting for him. Gaskall was still bleeding. They watched Severin in disbelief. 

“Our driver is taking this omega to the hospital,” Severin said. “Which means we won’t have a car. In other words, thanks to your comrade Gaskall, we will all be walking back to base.” 

Which would take hours. 

“Running,” he corrected. “I expect you all to run, without breaks. Every time you feel out of breath, you can tell Gaskall how much you appreciate her _fucking up.”_

Gaskall, for her part, kept her face carefully neutral. Severin was sure she hated him. He hated her. 

The omega didn’t say anything until they neared the car. Then he started squirming feebly, and said, _“Vous parlez français?”_

As if all the French Severin had spoken before had been a hoax. 

_“Oui,”_ Severin said regardless. 

_“S'il vous plaît... S'il vous plaît ne me prenez pas à l'hôpital. Ils vont - ils vont poser des questions. Ils vont me faire du mal. Je sais un endroit où je peux être aidé. S'il vous plaît...”_

_“Non, non. Je vais écrire une note avec ma signature. Les médecins auront un ordre de traiter et libérer vous. Bien?”_

The omega paused for a moment, considering. Then he nodded, looking at Severin. 

_“Bien. Merci, monsieur,”_ he said. 

Severin laid him down in the back seat, where he hugged his knees. Severin gave the driver orders, and the car was off. 

Severin walked back soon after, watching his alphas jog in front of him. 

* * * * 

When Richie and his interpreter got to the warehouse, the French omegas were just leaving. Richie had his camera on. It wasn’t hidden, as he usually kept it – when he found that the army was already gone, he took it out. 

“They were hitting us,” said the interpreter. “Punching and wrestling. They were going to kill us all.” 

Richie’s eyes widened. “What did you – what did you do?” he asked. He didn’t want to say anything, but he was surprised the army had left the warehouse intact. From what he’d learned in the past four months, they liked to burn stuff down.

After Richie’s question was translated, a brown-eyed omega spoke for the group, and the interpreter said soon after, “We fired warning shots. But one alpha, the biggest – the leader – spoke French.” 

Richie was surprised. The British army never, _ever_ spoke French. Not that Richie could talk. 

“He left with one of our omegas. To take him to the hospital. But not your hospital, of course. One of the army-run ones. We do not know if he will be alright.” 

Richie felt terrible. Whenever he arrived after the army had hurt or attacked civilians, he always wished he could help. His camera, at times like this, didn’t feel like enough. 

Richie asked a few more questions, wondering the entire time about why any army leader would take a hurt omega to be treated. The army usually did their damage and left. 

Perhaps, Richie thought hopefully, there were just a few alphas who cared. 

* * * * 

“We ought to send you back to England, Moran,” growled Zandra Kairis. 

“Please feel free,” said Severin, not getting his hopes up. Platoon-sergeant White Hair was nodding at Zandra’s suggestion. 

Zandra was only supposed to be on the base for that day. She was no longer Severin’s fulltime supervisor, but he was obligated to report to her on how his first attempt at implementing ETTO had gone. 

He had a feeling he may be on his way to demotion. He didn’t care, except… 

“This in no way proves that ETTO doesn’t work,” he said. “If anything, it calls for more trainers, a more thorough training period, and – ” 

“With what resources, Moran? With what _money?_ With all the billions our budget can currently afford?” Zandra said. 

“It wouldn’t cost billions,” Severin said. 

“Fine. Millions, then. To teach our whole army. To teach our army to go to a site full of congregating rebels, _not_ bring them in, _not_ question them, and stop to take one of them to the hospital! Do you have any idea what this is going to look like to my superior officers? Do you have any _fucking_ idea? I chose you, Moran. _You,_ out of hundreds, to be lieutenant of this base. And I don’t think anyone has so thoroughly fucked up a basic mission in the entire history of the military. What happened today was an _embarrassment.”_

“It’s an embarrassment that Gaskall forgot her training,” Severin said. 

“So she punched him! Big fucking deal! You think that doesn’t happen all the time? She lost her temper. But where are the rebels you were sent to bring back? Gone. And it’ll be hell finding them again. Even more of a hell to find out what they were planning.” 

“Maybe they weren’t planning anything,” Severin said. “They’re omegas. They were probably just writing up a petition for us, or a peace treaty.” 

“Or they were domestic terrorists,” interrupted White Head. “Not that we’ll know, now, until they blow something up.” 

“Or until they submit their peace treaty,” Severin insisted. 

Zandra snorted. “I’d stop talking if I were you, Moran. I let you go ahead with your little ETTO idea. But it’s over. All of it.” 

“But – ” 

“Shut up,” she snapped. “Funding for it is cut, starting tomorrow. I’ll contact the higher-ups. And I expect you to do something _huge_ to make up for this, Moran. I can’t afford to demote you right now, frankly, or I would,” she said. “But I expect you to do something for this army or you’re not going to enjoy your job much longer.” 

Severin had never enjoyed being a lieutenant in the first place, but all he said was, “There is something I can tell you. The omega Gaskall hurt told it to me, as I was lifting him into the car.” 

White Hair rolled his eyes. 

“What was it?” Zandra asked, interest piqued. 

“When I told him he’d be taken to a hospital, he didn’t want to go.” Severin didn’t blame him. All the hospitals in the city were run by the British; the French who went there were just as likely to be tortured and interrogated as treated. Severin’s note should have protected the omega, though. “He said he knew of another place. A place where he could get treated.” 

“Those fucking rebels,” Zandra sneered. “They have their own hospital now?” 

Severin shrugged. “I’d say so.” 

Zandra stood, peering down at him through cold eyes. “That’s good info to know, Moran. Perhaps this mission won’t look like a complete fucking waste of time to my superiors after all.” 

Then she dismissed him, and left the meeting room. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for typos/bad French.


	24. Meeting

It did not matter where or when he slept. When days went by and Paris was on fire, too tangled in smoke and gunshot and debris for Richie to breathe, he did not even need to be sleeping. His life had once been one of endless leisure; now, less and less often did his missions take him back to the hospital at night, where he could find a hard cot to sleep on. His quietude came in spurts. While taking a pee in the back of an alley, while waiting for his interpreter to figure out how to translate the qualms of a panicked French civilian, when he fell asleep while standing, camera in his hands, with dim awareness of where he was or why: It took just thirty seconds or so, and Severin would come. 

Today Severin walked into the kitchen as sunlight poured in through the kitchen window. The golden light reflected in Severin’s hair. He held out the hem of his shirt as if it were a sack. Sagging in his shirt-sack was a bundle of plums. 

“Did you know we have a plum tree?” Severin greeted. “I didn’t see it before, but I woke up this morning and went downstairs and saw a pink light pouring through our front windows. The pinkest-flowered plum tree bearing the most violet fruit has sprouted outside our door.” 

Severin had gone downstairs, while Richie lie in bed, to make Richie breakfast. Richie was swallowing his last bite of potatoes now and stood from the kitchen table. 

Richie stood, his stomach growling. He opened his eyes. It was dark; through a wall of shattered glass the moon glowed feebly, full and bright but dimmed by smog. Across from him was a dusty counter and a cash register; he stood amidst a ransacked chocolaterie. Its sweet chocolate scent remained, although the goods had doubtlessly found their way into British soldiers’ pockets some time ago. There was no sign of the chocolatier. 

He was waiting. It wasn’t time yet. He closed his eyes. 

“Not plums,” he said, immediately returning to his fantasy. “They’re chocolates.” 

He gave a winning smile and, before Severin could contradict him, the plums in his shirt turned to a single, long, thin bar of chocolate. 

“I see,” Severin murmured, and picked up the bar in his hand. It snapped with a clean, dry sound. The chocolate gleamed almost silkily, dark brown and emitting a heady aroma. 

“It’s a truffle,” Severin said. Richie looked in his hand and saw that the piece Severin had snapped was not plain chocolate at all, but a round, cocoa-coated truffle. 

Severin popped it in his mouth. He chewed slowly, and soft cocoa powder was left on his bottom lip. 

“Limoncello,” Severin said thoughtfully, after his teeth sunk into the chocolate. Richie could practically taste the liquid gushing in his own mouth, and swallowed. Richie came forward and snapped a piece of chocolate from the bar. He could feel Severin’s body, solid over him. How he missed that body – 

\- for a second the derelict chocolate shop wavered back into view, but Richie covered his eyes with his hand. 

The snapped chocolate took the form of a praline. Richie already knew what was in it: His favorite, creamy hazelnut. 

He could feel Severin’s eyes on him, his tongue darting out to lick the cocoa off his lip. Severin’s scent mixed well with the scent of the chocolate. 

A painful tug whipped at his chest, like a rubber band snapped against skin. 

“Severin,” Richie cried out to the darkness. The shop remained eerily silent. He inhaled, but only dust caught in his nostrils. 

For an unconscious sliver of time, Richie had smelled his alpha. 

He crouched, shaken with anguish, behind the broken shop display. The army Jeeps were not yet driving by; when they did, Richie would have to track them, would maybe jump on the back of one, small enough to remain unseen. Word was out that the British knew of the rebel hospital, and it was Richie’s job – along with a dozen others – to find out how close they’d come to finding it. 

He fiddled with his camera, stroking it as if it were his friend. It contained the images of the bullied, the haggard, the starving, the dead. Such friends he’d made here. He wished his interpreter had come with him tonight, although there was no need. He wished he lived in a world where, if one yearned often and strongly enough for a thing, it would eventually come true. 

* * * *

Severin kept licking his lips as he took his chair in the meeting room. He’d awoken with his mouth full of the taste of chocolate, although he knew it was not real. 

He hadn’t been able to keep his fantasy-Richard long in his head last night. It was his fault; he was too distracted with the stress of this meeting. If his superiors hadn’t been able to track down the rebel medical center, Zandra would do everything in her power to make sure he paid. 

He was the first to enter the room. Not long after, though, the door reopened. Severin stood, expecting to salute his superiors, but instead in the doorway stood an austere looking, gray-haired beta who was too slim to be in the military. 

He closed the door with a soft push and swept to the other side of the room, taking Severin’s hand in his before Severin could sit back down. 

“You must be the lieutenant,” he said. “My name is Charles Magnussen.” 

“Of _The British Times,”_ said Severin. 

“And the _London Weekly,”_ agreed Magnussen amiably. “As well as the _Morning Herald_ and _Economics.”_

And of a few other things as well, Severin thought, remembering John Watson and his alpha detective's case.

In that moment, as the beta looked up at him through his frameless glasses, Severin felt an absolute, resolute dislike for him, which had nothing to do with the clamminess of his hand. 

* * * *

_**A. Severin Moran**_

_**Lieutenant of Third Northern Base**_

_Finances: 0% Debt_

_Pressure Point:_

_Oxford (See File)_

_B. Seb Moran_

_Draft_

_Re-draft (See File)_

_O. Richie Brook O. Richie Brook O. Richie Brook O. Richie Brook O. Richie Brook O. Richie Brook O. Richie Brook O. Richie Brook O. Richie Bro_

* * * *

Severin looked at the room’s clock. “There’s going to be a meeting here.” It was supposed to start precisely now. 

“Oh, yes, there will be. I will sit there,” Magnussen pointed to the head of the table, “while you will retake your seat, there.” He pointed to Severin’s spot, several seats lower down. 

“However,” he said, “the meeting will not begin until I have told you something important. I’m unhappy with you, Rinny. You’ve been a terribly naughty boy.” 

Severin raised his eyes. It took several seconds for him to register the omegic usage of his name, but no time at all for memories of his days as a schoolboy to come back to him. 

“It seems that your plan to not use weapons on French omegas has not gone well. As it shouldn’t,” continued Magnussen. He clicked open his briefcase, revealing that it contained but a single item: A newspaper. 

“I understand the concern to stop using weapons. They’re very expensive, after all.” Magnussen clucked his tongue. “This is why I’ve developed a way to keep alphas in line, without having to pay very much money at all.” 

He pressed the newspaper flat on the table, almost lovingly, smiling at the printed ink. Severin saw that the newspaper displayed today’s date, and that the front page was almost entirely taken up by the face of a familiar omega. 

“As I’m sure you recognize, this is O. Richie Brook. England’s little star,” said Magnussen warmly. “He’s the lead in England’s current top-selling play, and he’s dazzling all the stages. This play, naturally, is much more conservative than his _last_ play.” 

At the thought of Richard’s live performance, Severin felt a violent tugging. He ignored it, though, keeping his focus on the newspaper. 

“O. Richie Brook has so many devoted admirers. Omegas, betas. Alphas. Which is why he seemed appropriate to choose for my example. Imagine, Rinny, if there was an alpha who was being very naughty, as naughty as you have been. Imagine that this alpha loved an omega very, very much. It would be easy – and affordable – to take that omega and – ” 

Charles Augustus Magnussen swiped a chair out from under the table and sat down. With his feet on the floor and his legs slightly spread, he made a spanking motion with his hand. He made it again. And again. 

He continued making the motion as he spoke: “I hear that this position is so humiliating for omegas. To be bent over with their pants on the floor. It’s embarrassing that they can’t fight back, don’t you think?” 

Severin had his gun in his belt. He moved his hand to rest lightly over the holster. He looked Magnussen in his pale, repulsive eyes. 

“Have you tried this method before?” Severin said. 

“You know, surprisingly, I haven’t,” said Magnussen. “But I suspect it’ll be very efficient, don’t you?” 

“Oh no, not at all,” said Severin mildly, mirroring Magnussen’s disposition. “You’d be wiser to stick to weapons dealing.” 

“And why would that be…?” Magnussen said. 

“You must be very well-educated, to own the entire press. A beta like you would have to know your history,” said Severin. 

“Naturally I do,” Magnussen said. “I know everything a beta would need to know.” 

“Then you realize that – just historically speaking,” said Severin, “when betas try to hurt omegas, they typically end up dead.” 

There was a beat, and Magnussen smiled. For a moment Severin wondered why, until he looked up and saw Zandra standing in the doorway. 

“Sit down, Moran,” she ordered. “We have a meeting to begin.” 

Severin sat while Magnussen took his seat at the head of the table. He left the newspaper where it was, laid out flat, no doubt as a reminder to Severin. 

Severin didn’t mind looking at the newspaper, though. Curiously, it did not hurt to look at it. And he knew why, because after two months he had learned how to tell the difference, and although it still took a second or two he had never yet made a mistake: That was not Richard on the front cover, starring in a new play. 

That was James. 

  
“The hospital is located here,” Zandra said. She marked a black dot on the map of Paris, indicating the northern outskirts of Greater Paris. “Right now we’re estimating it harbors one hundred or more French patients, mostly rebels and soldiers.”

“And the staff?” This was White Hair. “Who’s keeping a hospital of that size up and running?” 

“They seem to have trained staff. They’re French, so the staff aren’t just omegas. They have alpha and beta nurses, too. But…” Zandra faltered, looking at Magnussen. “We have suspicions of something else. But they’re only suspicions.” 

Magnussen stood. He said, addressing the dozen alphas around the table, “English omegas have been smuggled into France, and are currently using their own, independent funds – British pounds – to fund the rebel hospital.” 

“But this is only a suspicion,” Zandra said again. “We’re relying on a few soldier witnesses who have no pictures to prove what they saw.” 

“Only a suspicion,” Magnussen agreed. “And, furthermore, if there are English omegas in the building, you think there would be how many, A. Kairis?” 

“Less than a dozen,” Zandra said immediately. “Probably less than five.” 

“Why less than five?” Severin broke in. Heads turned to him. Zandra had instructed him not to speak unless spoken to, but he didn’t care. “Where are these numbers coming from?” 

Severin noted a few of Zandra’s superiors nodding, in acknowledgement of a good question, and Zandra had no choice but to answer. 

“If… _if_ omegas have been smuggled in,” she said, “they would have to rely on military personnel to help them. Spies, in other words. Traitors. We have monthly shipments of food and weapons. Very few alphas deal with these shipments. There can’t be, in other words, more than one or two spies helping these omegas. It’s unlikely that this spy would have been able to smuggle in more than a dozen omegas.” 

“What if they’ve been smuggling them in for years, and we just haven’t known it?” Severin asked. 

Zandra couldn’t glare at him with everyone watching, but he knew that if she could she would. 

“The hospital must have begun recently. We routinely inspect the outskirts of Paris, so it can’t have been running for long. If English omegas have been here for years, but wouldn’t they have started a hospital years ago?” 

Severin nodded. 

“This is why I’m here today,” Magnussen said. “All of you so dutifully spend all of your time in Paris. It makes England, your faraway home, a little foreign. I don’t blame any of you for not picking up on recent trends back in the homeland. However, recently civilian omegas have been very, ah, mischievous.” He smiled paternally. 

“What does that mean?” asked White Head. 

“A couple of disturbances in London, nothing more,” said Magnussen. “The little ones are getting a tad restless. We must remember that, although they are home and safe and snug in their beds, the war can be quite stressful to their delicate minds.” 

“But they’re not home and safe,” Severin interjected. “Some of them are here, apparently, in a place that is very much _not_ safe.” 

Magnussen pointedly ignored him. 

“They don’t understand what they’re doing, of course,” Magnussen said warmly. “They’ve got it in their tiny brains that what they’re doing might end the war faster. They care about us, you see. As much as we care about them.” 

All the alphas except were nodding warmly, as if remembering how sweet, docile, and clueless the omegas back home were. Magnussen was talking like an alpha. 

But Magnussen wasn’t an alpha. 

Severin said, “They obviously understand what they’re doing, because they’ve just started a rebel hospital, and a rebel hospital is one of the things the French most need. Clearly at least one of them knows what needs doing.” 

“Ah, but they _don’t_ understand. And perhaps neither do you, Lieutenant Moran,” Magnussen said. “They want to end the war sooner. And so do we all, I’m sure. But helping the French will not end the war. It will prolong it. They’re confused.” 

Zandra saw that Severin was about to retaliate, and quickly cut in: “Which is why Magnussen is proposing a solution. We’ll all vote on it, of course, but, as I understand, he’s met with several of us already.” 

Based on who was nodding at the table, Severin understood ‘several of us’ to mean ‘all of us except for Severin.’ Although, of course, Magnussen _had_ met with him. 

“My solution was actually inspired by Lieutenant Moran. Everyone is, I’m sure, familiar with his ETTO program. Although it was nothing short of disaster,” Magnussen paused, “it did inspire me. Because Moran is right. Omegas need to be dealt with differently than alphas. Moran thought that no weapons should be used, that we should be gentle. But omegas don’t understand ‘gentle.’ Ah – of course – they themselves are gentle. But they are also confused. How many omegas have you ever known, who have had difficulty making up their minds? Deciding on simple things?” 

The alphas around the table all laughed. Severin’s nails cut into his trousers. 

“Omegas _don’t_ know themselves, or what they want. But they have been mating with alphas for millions of years. They rely on alphas to tell them what they want, and alphas have never been gentle. They are direct. You are direct. Omegas need a clear, direct message. Which is why I am proposing you use the new Throwers to fix the hospital problem. It accomplishes your mission while allowing your soldiers to test the weapon in an ideal environment – a place where no one is fighting back.” 

With a bow and a flourish, Magnussen retook his seat. 

Severin was the first to speak. 

“What are Throwers?” he asked. 

“Forgive Lieutenant Moran,” Magnussen said generously to the table. “Due to my time constraints, I wasn’t able to inform him prior to the meeting.” 

“Also because it’s none of his business,” Zandra snapped. 

"Yes, this as well,” Magnussen agreed. 

Severin bit his tongue. 

“You want to destroy the hospital,” he said. 

It was Zandra who answered. “We don’t want any more omegas coming onto French soil. We bomb the hospital – with the Throwers – and they hear about what happened – in the newspapers. Then anyone who was considering coming into France won’t. It’s convenient.” 

“We’ll evacuate the hospital and send our English omegas back home?” Severin said. “They can tell their friends what happened themselves.” 

“If we send them home unharmed, they’ll try to recruit,” Magnussen said. 

Severin glared at him. _“You’re_ not sending them home. You’re not a part of this military. You’re a weapons dealer trying to make a deal. You don’t like my ETTO program not because it didn’t work, but because it means you won’t make massive sales every time we need to clear up an omegic congregation.” 

Zandra closed her eyes. She seemed to be breathing deeply and counting to ten. 

“The plan,” she said, voice rising, “is to attack tomorrow morning. Before they have time to prepare. Unfortunately, our soldiers think they were seen by an omega with a camera. They may know we know about them.” 

“I doubt they realize you plan to blow them up, though,” Severin said loudly. He didn’t really believe what he said. Couldn’t. He was surrounded by eleven old-time, military alphas – the very type who would want to keep omegas safe. Of course they wanted to keep omegas safe. Why would someone join the military for longer than they had to, if not because they really believed in their country’s message? In the belief that all omegas deserve security and liberty? 

“This is an added benefit, yes,” Zandra said. “We’ll have surprise on our side.” 

Severin looked around the table. A few coughed uncomfortably, some tapped their fingers nervously. No one spoke. Magnussen looked pleased. 

Severin wondered how many alphas here had omegas back home. Back home, where Magnussen would probably be flying after this meeting. Back home, where they couldn’t be protected from betas. 

“You don’t need to surprise them if you’re just going to evacuate them,” Severin said. 

“There are rebels in that hospital, Moran,” said Zandra. “Criminals. We would execute them anyway, which would cost a lot more money.” 

Fair enough. But: “We’ll have to find out who’s English and who’s not, then. And evacuate the English omegas, at least.” 

He could feel it, though, feel his voice slipping, fading. No one in this room was speaking up. Whether they were scared or supportive didn’t matter: This was happening. And, sure enough, when he stopped speaking, his superiors stepped in, pointing to Zandra’s map and talking in numbers and coordinates, in tactic. Forming a battle plan to murder their own omegas. 

  


Severin lay in his cot. He wasn’t thinking much. He didn’t need to think. He hadn’t had to make up his mind. It was like the decision was already there, in the core of his being, waiting until it was needed. 

He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. To anyone laying near him in the dark, he showed every sign of mounting relaxation. In the meeting room, hours before, he had eventually feigned reluctant acceptance. It was important that no one suspect anything. 

When his eyes closed, he was laying in his oversized bed, in the upstairs bedroom in his southern country home. Richard was snuggled in his arms. He was sleeping and Severin couldn’t – wouldn’t – wake him. He kissed Richard instead. His little nose, and his forehead, and his hair. His hair was so soft, and Severin swore he could really feel it against his lips. 

He’d been worried for so long that his memories of Richard would fade, eventually, but they seemed to only get more vivid. 

He lay on the cot, in his bed, alone, kissing Richard, until every last sleeping body around him drifted off to slumber. 

  


By two o’clock in the morning, he’d risen, located an available Jeep, and driven off the base to the outskirts of Paris. 


	25. Hospital

As he pulled up to the hospital, having noted the coordinates on Zandra’s map from the meeting, he checked the time. He cursed; they only had until sunrise, and he didn’t know how an entire hospital could be evacuated by then. Maybe they would leave the patients behind. Maybe only the omegas would get out. The decision wasn’t up to him, though. Warning them was the only part he had control over. 

He didn’t drive the Jeep directly in front of the hospital. He pulled up to the pavement a few blocks before it. No one was on the street, but he knew that an English army Jeep was likely to stir panic once it was seen. There was nothing he could do about it. 

He approached the hospital unarmed, with his hands up. He wasn’t sure how patients entered the hospital, or if anyone stood guard. It didn’t look like a medical center. It was a brick building with many floors and, judging from its age, possibly no elevator. This would make evacuation considerably more difficult. 

Once he got near the front doors, a tiny person stepped out. She wore a white nurse's uniform and, in her small hand, was a gun. Having still not wrapped his head around omegas bearing weapons, it took Severin a moment to compose himself. 

“Êtes-vous français?” he finally managed to say. 

His French surprised her enough for her to say, in her own language, “Who are you?” 

He looked too much like an English soldier to be anything but, but he said, “My name is Severin Moran. I’m a lieutenant, and I’m here to tell you that this hospital is going to be blown up in four hours.” 

She barely paused. She raised the gun at him, saying, “Stay outside,” and rushed back in. 

She was probably going to her superiors to tell them that there was an English alpha outside the hospital. He recited what he planned to say – something more cohesive, more persuasive – to get them to believe that he was genuinely warning them of an attack. 

In just a few minutes, though, two more omegas came and opened the doors, shoving doorstoppers beneath them. Severin could see, through the doorway, people rushing about – not in chaos but in an efficient, organized fashion, everyone intent on a task. 

With no questions asked, the evacuation began. 

He looked at the two omegas by the doors. 

“May I come in?” he asked. 

One of them raised his eyebrows. He said, in an English accent, “Stay outside. Don’t move where we can’t see you.” 

He wondered why they weren’t more surprised or suspicious, but then it dawned on him: They must have been prepared for an attack from day one. Moreover, it was possible they didn’t realize he was a traitor to his own army. This fact hadn’t even sunk in for him. Possibly, because the hospital harbored English omegas, they thought he’d been sent by the army to warn them. An ethical battlefield. 

In more minutes, the patients able to walk were led out of the hospital. Cars began to pull up in front of the hospital, driving there from all directions of Paris. Nurses hurried to help the patients in before they were driven off. It was like the rebels had dozens of getaway cars, always on stand for when they were needed. 

Severin wondered where they were all going. 

He stood there awkwardly as his enemies passed him. They worked more slowly on bringing out the ICU patients, delivering them to trucks that appeared to be ambulances of sorts, medically equipped. Someone had clearly thought this through. 

This hospital had been prepared for an evacuation from the day it was planned. 

Despite what Zandra had reported, it seemed that most of the people in charge were omegas. Every alpha working on staff, as well as the alpha French soldiers able to walk and lift, were rushing to carry the heavier objects. Although, Severin noted, most of the beds had been put on wheels. 

Eventually Severin sat down on the cold ground, trying to stay far enough to be out of the way while still observing the progress. By four o’clock in the morning, nearly every floor of patients had been cleared. 

An omega emerged from the hospital on a cell phone. She spoke in rapid French, her words making little sense to Severin: “We need residents on stand-by, all potential drop-off sites active. This is a Code M-7DP.” 

She turned to rush back into the hospital, tucking her phone back into her pocket. Then she spotted Severin. 

“Fuck,” she said in French. “They didn’t…?” She shook her head. “You need to leave. You need to get off our premises.” 

A sudden wave of dread washed over Severin, so strong that he realized he must have been suppressing it until now. He said, “I have a Jeep. An army Jeep. If you need more cars – no one will stop you if they see you in it.” 

“You have to leave. Every staff member in this hospital is armed,” she said, hand resting on her holstered hip to make a point. 

“I don’t have anywhere to go,” he said. If he was left here, he couldn’t go back into Paris. His absence and the hospital’s swift evacuation would be linked in just a few hours, after the English bombed an empty building. If he stayed in Greater Paris, he’d have to stay hidden from both the English and the French. 

She glared at him, not understanding. 

He said, “I won’t be permitted back on my base.” 

And all at once she understood. 

“Up,” she barked. He was startled by an omega barking, and paused before scrambling to stand. She said, “There’s an alpha patient on the second floor. She’s just had surgery and can’t walk. Normally we keep everyone who can’t walk on the first floor, but we ran out of room. We need someone to carry her down.” 

He followed her into the building. She walked briskly, leading the way. 

With the patients from the first floor all gone, most of the nurses were rushing to pack medical supplies into boxes. As he went up the stairs, a staff member dashed by him, carrying a cart of blood transfusion kits. 

The omega pointed out the bed to him, but didn’t have much time before someone was calling for her, in need of directions. She rushed off. There were probably less than two dozen people left in the entire building now. It was five o’clock, and the sun was lightly dappling the sky. They had maybe a little more than an hour left. 

The patient was unconscious. Severin neared the bed, the only occupied one left on the floor. There were some random, superficial scrapes across her face, but even through her sickly, hospital-stained pallor he could see that she had beautiful, long silvery hair. What he didn’t realize until he drew closer was that she only had one leg. 

She was recovering from an amputation. 

Severin frowned, considering. He wasn’t a nurse. He didn’t know how to handle someone who’d just lost a leg. She was attached to IVs. How was he supposed to take those out of her? Or was he supposed to somehow bring them down with her? Did they think he was able to lift the entire bed, and the IVs, and bring the whole clunking mess down the stairs? 

He looked around to ask a nurse for help. Everyone was moving too quickly; no one even noticed that an English alpha was in their presence. 

His eyes darted towards the window. There were Jeeps pulling up to the hospital. He wondered how the French had been able to hijack army Jeeps, and why they still needed so many cars when there were few patients left. 

He jolted. 

“BOMB,” he shouted. 

People dropped what they held and ducked, and everything moved impossibly slowly. He saw, outside, the soldiers get out of the Jeeps. One had something in his hand. Severin couldn’t see the soldier’s face or what he held, but suddenly what he held was flying towards Severin, towards the window on the second floor. And he still didn’t know how to move his patient. 

He yanked her from the bed onto the floor and dove over her, a human shield. The IV machines fell, liquid splashing in his eyes. Everything was fast and slow: He had time to think, to position her face so that it was away from the window, to drape her arms over her chest, to cover her eyes with his hand. He breathed deeply and braced. 

_I’ve been here before,_ he thought. This time he knew that he would not hear the explosion. Only a kind of silence that could be perceived as more than silence; your fate ripped from your hands. 

What felt like minutes of tense nothingness, a hiatus, couldn’t have been more than a second. Then the building shook, the ground quaked. The window burst, shattered glass spilling out like a broken dam. The shards clanged like shaken chimes when they hit the floor, and pierced like knives where they stabbed his flesh. 

_It sounds almost musical,_ he thought. Then the pain kicked in, and all other thought was drowned out by his own screams.


	26. Dreams

“What the hell?” Richie wasn’t sure when he’d started saying that, but it tumbled from his mouth at just the right moment. Or the wrong moment: The entire committee was staring at him. 

He fidgeted. As had become his habit in the past months, his hand reached for his camera, as if it were a shield. Once he touched it, he realized the committee was waiting for a response. The French and English rebels needed to know if he’d go, along with James Smith, to see the wounded English alpha. 

He didn’t want to, but he couldn’t decline. He'd been the outspoken leader of the unpopular opposition, had fought too hard to convince the committee that the English alpha was a spy. That the entire bombing incident was a huge set-up to get the rebels to trust a military alpha. 

He was expected, now, to provide evidence. To interview the alpha in his “hospital” bed and extract from him, somehow, the right information. 

He stood. He didn’t say anything, as he looked around the table, but he gave a single, resolute nod. It was as official as signing a document. The committee quickly turned to other pressing matters – how to allocate their remaining medical supplies, whether to build another hospital – and Richie was left to himself. Except, from across the long table, James Smith caught his eye. Only a person like him could smile so openly at Richie when Richie had been fighting, in the last week, to get the English alpha chained to his sickbed, while James Smith fought to give the very same alpha the finest medical treatment. 

The two were at odds, although James Smith was too good to hold it against Richie. Of course, Richie would feel obliged to heal the alpha, too, if the alpha had saved his mate's life. 

  


“Whether we trust him or not,” James Smith said, for the umpteenth time, as they climbed the stairs of his apartment building together, “we are _not_ to attempt intimidation until – _unless_ – he resolutely resists our questioning. We need to greet him like a hero, because – ” 

“He saved your mate,” finished Richie. If the English alpha hadn’t saved Victoire, Richie was certain James Smith wouldn’t have offered to keep the alpha in his own home, risking his cover in the process. 

“Because he’ll be less suspicious of us if we don’t seem suspicious of him,” James Smith said. 

Richie held his tongue, because James Smith was his superior and he liked James Smith. But he had enough experience to know that an omega should never trust an English alpha. Even when they claimed to love you they would hurt you, and this alpha hadn’t claimed anything at all. 

As they reached the next floor, Richie caught the whiff of a familiar scent. He stopped in his tracks just as James Smith said, “This is the floor.” 

“Is that the alpha’s scent?” Richie asked. His voice quivered, and he swallowed hard, so that the scent washed down his throat. 

James Smith sniffed the air and shrugged. “I can only smell Victoire, faintly.” 

Richie knew how Victoire smelled, though – or rather knew that her scent wasn’t distinct to him. No, this had to be the English alpha. He smelled… He smelled almost like Severin. He smelled exactly like Severin. 

Was that an omen? That the English alpha pretending to be a savior should smell like the alpha who’d betrayed Richie? Was this Richie’s imagination – he was so certain the alpha was no good that he attached Severin’s scent to him? 

It didn’t matter. Traitor or not, whether he missed Severin desperately or hated him, Richie wanted to smell more of the scent. He passed the front door in a rush. 

James Smith locked the door behind them and led Richie down the hall of his house, to where his guest-room-turned-hospital was located. Richie wouldn’t have needed a guide, though. His subconscious was apparently very clever, making the scent of Severin stronger and stronger as he stepped closer. 

He’d forgotten. Not the scent – he could never forget the scent. He still smelled it vividly in his dreams, in the fantasy country home he shared with his fantasy Severin. But he had forgotten the best part of the scent: In real life, he could _feel_ it. Surrounding him like an invisible blanket, calming him. 

Richie turned his camera on before he entered the room. His nose might play tricks on him, but film always stayed true. 

He stopped in the doorway. The alpha was on a bed in the center of the room, tied down with IVs. He was positioned on his stomach, his back covered in bandages. And he had blond hair the exact shade of Severin’s. 

Richie’s heart leapt. An alpha who smelled like Severin, and had his hair, too. It was too much, too good, too painful, more than Richie could hope for. He ached for the real Severin Moran with every atom of his being, but if he could just stay in this doorway for a few seconds, just a few, and pretend he was looking at Severin… 

“Richie? Something wrong?” asked James Smith. 

The alpha’s shoulders were broad. And his back could be traced down to a thin waist; he was the exact, splendid shape of Severin. 

When he took a breath, he inhaled in the same deep, familiar way that – 

“Severin.” 

Richie dropped the camera and raced forward. His pushed James Smith out of his way, dodging the IVs. 

“Severin. Severin? Sev – ” 

Severin. 

Richie cried out. 

Severin’s sleeping face was looking at him, at Richie. He was real, solid, _there._ Somehow impossibly in this room. 

“Richie, what’s going on – ” 

“He’s my mate.” He was sleeping and beautiful and _here._ “He’s my mate, he’s my mate.” 

Richie kicked off his shoes. There was a sliver of space between the end of the bed and Severin’s sleeping body, and Richie crawled into bed, took up that space. 

He touched Severin, actually touched him. For the first time in months. A palm to his cheek, and Richie shivered at the heat of it. 

He was still babbling, couldn’t stop. _He’s my mate._

He stroked Severin’s hair, short as it was. He was thinner, now; his skin sunk in, highlighting his cheekbones, the aggressive circles beneath his eyes. 

Richie wanted – needed – to touch Severin, touch all of him. Embrace him, squeeze him to remember how real and solid he was. But he looked down and saw the bandages again, some of them stained with dried blood. 

“He’s hurt,” Richie cried, as if this were a new revelation. It was: Severin Moran being hurt was not what he’d prepared for. “He’s hurt, O. Smith,” Richie said frantically. “Why is he hurt? I don’t – I don’t understand.” 

James Smith stepped closer to the bed. He said, gently, “Because he’s a hero, Richie. This soldier is named Severin?” 

Richie couldn’t turn, couldn’t take his eyes off Severin, but he said, “No. No, don’t use that. You can’t question him. You can’t hurt him, please. Please, he’s not a traitor, I promise, I –” 

“Shh. It’s okay, Richie. No one will hurt him. If you vouch for him, I’ll take that very seriously – ” 

“I do,” said Richie immediately. “If he’s a traitor you can hurt me, it’ll be my fault. I love him. Severin. Severin,” Richie choked. He calmed slightly as Severin took a deep breath, almost as if he were responding to his name. His eyelids, though, still flickered with sleep. 

“Did you know that Severin was in Paris, Richie?” James Smith asked. 

Richie shook his head, his back still turned to James Smith. “I didn’t know, I don’t understand…” 

“Did you tell Severin you were leaving him to go to Paris, Richie?” asked James Smith. 

Richie shook his head again. “I never left him. I would never, ever – I love him. Severin,” Richie whispered. _I love you. I love you._

He wished James Smith would let them be alone. 

Then a piece of reality returned to him. 

He hadn’t left Severin. He never would. Severin had left him. 

Richie backed slowly away, as far on the other end of the bed as he could get. 

“He left me,” Richie said. He got out of bed and turned to James Smith, hurrying: “But you can’t hurt him.” 

“I won’t,” James Smith assured. “We will have to find out how he ended up in Paris without you knowing about it, but I’m sure you can just ask him.” 

“I can’t,” Richie said. “He – he left me. He doesn’t want me.” Richie closed his eyes. He took a deep, steadying breath, fighting the pressure that built up behind his eyes. “He left me to find a mate. Because I told him that I couldn’t mate, and he…” Another breath. Too many months had gone by, he was too strong for this. He wasn’t going to cry in front of James Smith. “He didn’t want that. So he left.” 

“Well, I can smell him just faintly, you know. And he definitely doesn’t smell like he’s mated with anyone,” said James Smith. “Is it possible he decided to re-join the army after learning that you’d come to Paris, so he could find you again?” 

“No.” Richie shook his head. “He hated the army, and he wouldn’t want to find me again.” 

“You’re certain?” James Smith said. 

“Yes.” 

Richie, although he hadn’t torn his eyes from Severin, could feel James Smith regard him questioningly. 

“He left you, but you still vouch for him?” James Smith asked. 

Richie turned to James Smith now and looked him in the eyes. 

“Whatever Severin does or reveals about himself when he wakes up, I take full responsibility for it,” Richie said. The camera was still on, although it was on the floor; everything was being recorded. Good. Richie wanted this set in stone. 

“That’s very selfless of you, Richie,” James Smith said. 

Richie gaped, and James Smith continued, “Whether he wants to see you or not, you deserve some time alone with him. He may not wake up for hours or days. I’ll be in the living room should you need me.” 

James Smith even took the camera and closed the door behind himself, ensuring privacy. 

With no one watching, Richie didn’t have to be strong anymore. 

The sight of Severin’s bandages caused him literal, physical pain. And yet it’d been Richie himself who’d said that treating Severin was an unnecessary expense, a humane luxury the resistance couldn’t afford when their medical staff was now scattered across Paris. 

Antibiotics and morphine were being pumped into Severin’s veins right now, keeping out the pain and infection. How glad Richie was, just this once, that no one had listened to him. 

He wanted to kiss Severin. Only lightly. The frustration of not kissing him, of knowing that Severin wouldn’t want to kiss him, made him want to cry. He crawled back into the bed – he didn’t have to touch Severin, but he needed to be near him. 

He associated Severin so strongly with his London flat, with cozy and familiar environments, that it seemed like a bad dream for him to be in Paris, in the war-wrecked cosmopolitan hellhole. But it was good, that he was here. Severin being near Richie, after all, was practically the only thing Richie had dreamed of since they were separated. 

Richie closed his eyes. He wanted that Severin. The fantasy Severin who wanted him. Just for a moment, he needed – 

“Richard?” Severin’s voice called from down the hall. From the sound of it, he’d been calling for a while. 

Richie rushed forward. He was on the upper floor of their country home, and Severin was in the room at the end of the hall, their bedroom. When Severin emerged and found Richie running toward him, he laughed and put out his arms. 

He caught Richie, squeezed him tight and spun him around. Richie sighed. Wasn’t this great? A Severin who cared about him - 

Awareness of the dream pulled him from the dream. Richie opened his eyes. 

Severin had moved in what must have been the short minutes since Richie had fallen asleep. His arm was linked loosely around Richie’s waist. 

A coincidence. 

Richie checked to make sure the IVs were still positioned correctly in his arms, and then he closed his eyes once more. 

“I’ve been looking for you all day,” Severin said, kissing the top of Richie’s head. “Where were you?” 

“Out in the garden,” Richie said at random. 

“I thought I searched there,” said Severin, although there was no suspicion in his voice. Richie felt strangely guilty, as if he were actually lying to Severin, as if this were actually Severin and he should feel bad for leaving Severin alone. 

“Richard,” Severin said. He went to one knee to be on level with Richie. “I… I really need you today,” he said. “I’ve needed you all week and I… Can you stay with me? Just for now?” 

“Of course, Severin,” Richie said, alarmed. Severin hugged and kissed him again. When they pulled apart, he said, “What were you doing in the garden?” 

Richie paused. It was autumn, now, in this world. 

“Pomegranates,” he said. “I was picking pomegranates.” 

“We don’t have a pomegranate tree,” said Severin. But when they looked out the hallway window and into the backyard, they saw that there was one, bearing ripened fruit. 

“I can’t reach them all,” Richie said. “I need your help, if you could pick me up.” 

“I most certainly could.” 

Richie giggled as Severin took him over the shoulder and led him down the hall, descending the stairs. He was careful with Richie, but didn’t set him down until they were in the backyard. 

They both stared for a moment at the dozens upon dozens of pomegranate fruit ready for picking on the great tree. 

“And what, exactly,” said Severin, “do you plan on doing with all of those?” 

“Maybe cranberry-pomegranate sauce,” Richie said. 

“But I don’t – ” 

Richie jolted as Severin began to cough. First he coughed in the dream, his able body doubling over, but then the sound was so loud in Richie’s ear that he opened his eyes and found Severin coughing in bed. 

Richie placed a hand on Severin’s shoulder, as if this would help. He checked to make sure no blood was seeping from beneath the bandages, in case Severin’s cough should have split his wounds. 

When he lay back down, Severin’s eyes were open. 

There was recognition in them, although glazed over it was a layer of incoherency, of a morphine-induced haze. His arm was still wrapped softly around Richie’s waist. 

“I don’t,” he said, and his voice was raspy, but affectionate, “like cranberry sauce.”

  


Severin had closed his eyes almost immediately after that, but Richie lay with his heart pounding. 

There was no way he couldn’t come to the impossible but obvious conclusion. He and Severin were sharing the same dream. But was this dream one they’d always shared – for the past few months, had the real Severin somehow been in his mind? It was unthinkable. The Severin in his dreams loved Richie. And would never leave him. 

He launched himself, forcibly, back into his dream. It took tremendous concentration to relax his body enough to close his eyes and return to the subconscious. 

When he did, Severin was there again, in the garden. 

“Please,” Severin said. “I asked you to stay – ” 

Richie interrupted him, although Severin sounded desperate. 

“Why did you leave me?” he asked. 

“Leave _you?”_ Severin said. “Richard, I’ve spent the entire afternoon searching for you, and just now you – ” 

“Four months ago,” Richie said. “Why? You said you wanted another mate, but you never got one. Why would you have left me?” 

“Stop,” Severin growled. “I don’t want to talk about this.” 

“I don’t care!” Richie said. As if the two of them weren’t concentrating enough to keep their beautiful, sunny day up, the garden grew paler, dimmer. The tree was gone. “Severin, I need to know what happened. You broke my heart.” 

“I said stop it.” Severin’s voice was a rough, alphic growl; Richie stepped back. “We’re not talking about it, none of that exists here, and – ” 

All at once the garden, the house, the sun – everything but the two of them melted, as if sucked in by the ground. And as if it had been there all along, merely hiding behind the mask of the countryside, Severin’s flat in London revealed itself. They stood in the living room. 

Severin squeezed his fists, and Richie could tell he was trying to force the countryside to rematerialize itself. 

“It’s not going to work,” Richie said. “It needs both of our imaginations to work.” 

“Then imagine it,” Severin snapped. 

“I will once you answer my question,” Richie said. “You hurt me so much. I deserve an explanation – ” 

Richie yelped as Severin pushed him to the floor, towering over him. 

“Shut up,” Severin said roughly. He pressed a foot on Richie’s chest, keeping him pinned down. “Shut. Up. I don’t talk about that, not even to myself, do you understand? Richard isn’t heartbroken. He’s in London with his brother, and - ” 

“You’re hurting me,” Richie whispered. 

“Good,” said Severin. “I want it to hurt. Because I lied to Richard, and you’re not Richard, you’re extension of _me,_ and I hate – ” He stopped, breathed. He closed his eyes and removed his foot from Richie’s chest. 

“I’m not you,” Richie said. “Severin, I’m… I’m here. Real. Richie.” 

Severin gave a bitter laugh, although he helped Richie off the floor. 

“That’s cute,” he said, "but Richard would never be as assertive as _you._ Months have passed, and I’m losing my memories of him, aren’t I? Because you’ve changed. You’re not the Richard I left behind in London.” 

“I’m not,” Richie agreed. “But I’m still m – ” 

Yanked, again, into reality. 

When Richie opened his eyes, James Smith and two nurses were in the room. James Smith was pulling Richie out of the bed, while the two nurses rushed about. There was a terrible beeping noise and, when Richie was able to tear himself from James Smith and look at the bed, he saw that Severin had moved in his sleep. Moved violently, angrily, and blood sept from his wounds, soaking his bandages. 

“Come on,” James Smith said. “We’ll only be in their way.” 

Richie said, “I don’t – I don’t want to leave. Will he be alright?” 

“Yes, Richie, of course he will. But we need to get out of the way.” 

Richie let James Smith drag him out of the room. He wasn’t sure that he should tell anyone about his dream, although he was wracked with guilt. It was his fault. His fault Severin had moved, his fault he was bleeding, that Severin’s heart was racing. 

“I love him,” Richie said aloud, as if James Smith had claimed otherwise. “James Smith, I want him to be okay. I love him.” 

* * * * 

Severin awoke feeling sorer but less foggy than he had in days. He preferred the pain to the fog, he thought. When he looked down at his arm, he saw one less IV there. Someone had unplugged him from the morphine. 

It was frustrating. He couldn’t move, couldn’t turn his head. But he was positive he was awake, and still he smelled what he’d been able to smell in his dream. 

Richard, on his sheets. The scent of Richard everywhere. 

“Richard,” he called out. The room was so quiet that he must have been alone, and Richard wasn’t here, couldn’t be here. Where he himself was he wasn’t sure, but he could narrow it down to Paris, and there was no chance Richard was in Paris. 

Still, like an idiot, he couldn’t stop from calling out. 

“Richard,” he said again. Christ. He wanted Richard so badly. The real Richard, even if the real one had forgotten him. The dream one didn’t exactly want him right now, which was pretty pathetic, considering that he came from Severin’s own mind. 

“Rich – ” 

“He’ll be back in a moment, dear.” 

There was a nurse standing behind him. He felt her touch his arm – no, she was inserting another IV. The morphine. 

“Don’t,” he said. “I want to stay awake, I – ” 

“Shh. Richie will be allowed in as soon as you’re stabilized,” she said. “Please don’t move.” 

Severin stayed still. The nurse was English. Which meant he’d been brought to an army infirmary. 

_Richie will be allowed in._ What shit. They’d say anything to keep him quiet. As soon as he was able to stand on two feet, they’d send him to a prison. One of the cold ones, underground, where he could rot until someone remembered to put him on trial. 

As he sunk back to unconsciousness, that odious fog returning, he wondered vaguely if they’d execute him. 

If his dream Richard was going to continue making him feel like shit, he thought that wouldn’t be such a bad way out. 


	27. Promises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A heartfelt thank you to everyone who's ever commented after I haven't updated for weeks and asked me to get back to work. You guide me to the path of completion!
> 
> Also, please be merciful and pretend all of the terrible French I wrote is perfect. (Or correct it in comments so that I can change it.)
> 
> Thanks for reading.

Severin had gone mad. 

He’d survived a war and lost to love. The insanity of love was sweeter than battle, because instead of dreaming over and over about the stillness of bombs, he dreamt he felt Richard’s hands on him. 

He couldn’t turn his head to look, obviously, and he felt like he was awake, but it could only be his dream sense that allowed him to know – to _know_ – that the warm, soft hands that butterflied over his raw skin were Richard’s hands. And what about the fingers that tickled his lips, convincing his mouth to open although his throat was red, so that he could swallow the soup that trickled down? Yes, those were Richard’s fingers. Those were Richard’s eyes he could feel on him, taking note of the sweat that dampened his skin. He dreamt, once, that Richard licked some of that sweat off, right from Severin’s cheek. But when he awoke he found it was a cool cloth, not a tongue, and although he saw Richard holding that cloth he knew it wasn’t real. 

Soldiers – when they cracked – despised their insanity. He’d seen some alphas get dragged out of barracks, screaming from night horrors, thrashing and wailing against the violence that assailed them. No one _wanted_ madness. Except Severin. Severin sunk into it, delighted in it. Severin whispered to it, rough and raw, wooing his omegic hallucination. Severin coaxed madness, cooed for madness to kiss him on the lips. 

The further he dipped, the more certain he was that he was the only truly crazy soldier he’d ever known, because who didn’t reject madness? Richard stroked and touched and whispered to him, and he loved it. He wanted nothing to do with reality – not ever again. If he were to be tried soon, and shot dead, or electrocuted, or even hanged, he wanted to be so far gone that he would raise his head, in his last seconds, and mistake his executioner for Richard. 

* * * * 

The nurses had taken Severin off of morphine, and now he was awake for increasing stretches of time. Richie suspected Severin was having difficulty telling the difference between consciousness and dream, but the nurses didn’t seem to notice. What they all knew, however, was that Richie needed to be there whenever Severin was awake. 

The first time the English nurse tried to assist Severin with a bedpan when he was awake and aware, he reacted with vitriol. The nurse emerged from the room, after Richie had been waiting outside. She’d been shaking, holding an unused bedpan in her hands. 

“He threw it across the room,” she’d whispered, quickly losing her fright. “Grabbed it right from me, too. That’s an awful strong alpha you have on your hands, O. Richie.” 

When Richie helped him, with whatever it was, Severin offered no protests. The nurses couldn’t understand it, but Richie did: It was pride. Severin couldn’t bear for even nurses to see him in his state of weakness, but Richie’s presence soothed. 

Richie treated his duties as a privilege. He changed Severin’s bandages daily, bathed him, cleaned his bed pan, fed him. Talked to him, whether he was asleep or awake. Richie slept in his bed, kissed his skin, loved him so much more with every passing day that he knew that, if Severin fully recovered and said he wanted nothing to do with Richie, Richie would break. 

But Severin had broken Richie before. And Richie had carried on – heavy and sad, but moving along even so. He was willing to risk it twice, for Severin Moran. 

  


A kiss on the forehead. On the left temple. The right. Down his nose. Severin had a long, dignified nose; so Richie kissed it twice. Severin’s eyes were closed, but his lips curled up in a smile as he received Richie’s kisses. Likely Severin had never been, nor ever would be again, as passive as he was now. He put out his hand, for Richie to hold, and Richie, squeezing it, said, “It’s time to wake up.” 

Severin opened his eyes obediently. While his gaze was coherent, it was clear he was misinterpreting reality. Either that, or he’d known Richie was in Paris, and wasn’t remotely surprised to see him. 

“Do you know that your lips feel like falling petals on my skin?” Severin asked. 

“Hush, Severin,” Richie said fondly. “We’re going to try something today, and you might be embarrassed if you say anything too sentimental.” 

“Try what?” asked Severin. 

“I’m going to turn my camera on,” Richie said. 

“Camera?” For some reason, Severin’s eyes lit up in alarm. 

“Shh,” Richie said soothingly. “I just have some questions to ask you.” 

“I’m not working with the Resistance,” said Severin. “I don’t know anything about their operations.” 

“I know. Hush, Severin. Shh.” 

Severin cautiously allowed Richie to kiss him more, although his eyes followed Richie’s camera warily as he brought it out. Richie wondered how Severin was seeing the world right now, what he might think the camera meant. 

The light flashed green, and Richie began. He announced the date and time, introduced Severin, and said, “Severin, can you tell me how long you’ve been in Paris for?” 

“My whole life,” Severin groaned, closing his eyes. 

Richie squeezed Severin’s hand again, trying to be patient. He’d attempted to ask Severin questions before, although never with a camera. 

“You spent a couple of months in London, before returning to Paris again,” Richie said. “So that would mean that, recently, you’ve spent four months in Paris, at most. Do you agree?” 

Severin wouldn’t open his eyes. He only said, “Check my records, if you want to know.” 

“I don’t have any records,” Richie said. “Only you.” 

“Then find someone who has them.” 

Richie took a deep breath. He traced his fingers along Severin’s arm, but Severin pulled away. Richie hated to see him close himself off, when he’d been so relaxed and receptive moments ago. 

“It’s just me, Severin. It’s Richie,” Richie said. “I love you, and I’ve missed you, and I’m trying to figure out how you ended up here.” 

“Mhm,” Severin said. “Right.” 

* * * * 

“Please,” the voice pleaded. How was it that the English interrogator could look and sound like Richard so consistently? “You’re a hero, Severin. You saved so many French and British rebels.” 

“I’ve already admitted to it,” Severin said, for the umpteenth time. What was the point of carrying on an interrogation, day after day, when he’d confessed the first time? “I just want an execution date.” 

And today’s date, too. He was rather out of place and time. 

“Don’t talk like that.” Richard’s voice was sulking. “No one’s going to hurt you, Severin. Not ever. Not now.” 

The voice kept speaking, but Severin blocked it out. He mostly didn’t mean to, but any amount of stress was quick to knock him out. In minutes, he was asleep. 

* * * * 

Weeks passed. Victoire and the nurses came to see Severin. Richie never left him, except to bathe. He took all of his meals with Severin, read to Severin, had his computer brought in and edited parts of his footage while lying next to Severin in bed. Never once did Severin seem to understand that Richie was really there. 

Sometimes seeing both the recognition and distrust in Severin’s eyes filled Richie with anguish. He was ashamed to have succumbed to begging, pleading, for Severin to understand that he was real. 

Eventually he gave up. 

It was enough that Severin was healing. He would have to wear his bandages for months, the nurses said, but his skin was less tender. He spent increasing amounts of time awake. 

Severin would be alright. Beyond that, Richard could hope for nothing. 

  


One morning – in the very early morning, when both Severin and Richie were deep asleep, sharing dreams – Richie was roughly shaken awake. 

“O. Richie.” That was the unmistakable whisper of James Smith. Richie recognized it even through his sleepy haze. “I haven’t much time. Meet me in the living room.” 

The abruptness of his appearance and disappearance served to waken Richie quickly, and he was out of bed soon enough, making sure Severin’s breathing was still deep, unbothered, before he tiptoed out. He went down the hall and, poking his head into the living room, found James Smith and Victoire. 

Victoire’s silvery hair was extraordinarily long, sweeping past her hips. They were quietly murmuring to one another in French, neither noticing Richie. Victoire was on her knees in front of an armchair, although even sitting down she was still taller than James Smith, who sat on the chair itself. He was running a hairbrush down her long tresses, his hands moving with a delicate, loving reverence. For the first time, Richie thought of him as omegic. 

Richie cleared his throat, although neither seemed startled by his appearance. Victoire said, “Is Severin Moran alright, on his own?” Her accent was thicker than James Smith’s, and her English not quite perfected. 

“He’s fine,” Richie said. “It – it’s nice to see you, O. Smith.” James Smith straightened in his chair. “Do you need me for something?” 

Victoire smiled at the name; Richie knew it was not James Smith’s real one, but he’d never offered another. 

James Smith said, “I do, Richie. Please, sit.” 

Richie took an armchair across from the pair. He had been in James Smith’s house for a considerable amount of time and, although he didn’t think he warranted as a burden, his stomach knotted at what he suspected would come next. 

He was right. 

“I want to thank you for everything you’ve done in the past five months, O. Richie,” James Smith said. “I remember, the first time I met you, you weren’t convinced you’d ever be able to shoot a gun. Not only did you pass training, but you’ve been on the field nearly every day since. And because of you, we have the first ever comprehensive documentation of British war crimes of a war that started a quarter of a century ago. Because of you, we’ll soon turn that documentation into a documentary meant for the public. The British, and the French, and the watching world. 

“When he is well, I owe your alpha my expressed gratitude as well. He’s saved hundreds of lives.” James Smith reached up to touch Victoire’s hair, as if it were the finest gossamer. “I know that when your other half is injured, you want to be near them. You’ve spent weeks with Severin Moran now, O. Richie.” 

“I know,” Richie cut in quickly. “And it’s been a privilege. I understand. I…” He swallowed. “I’m sure you would have liked to stay with Victoire when she was in the hospital.” 

Unconsciously, Victoire shifted, moving her weight from her intact leg to her prosthetic. Evidently the prosthetic was a good fit. 

“You didn’t, though, because you had work. But my work is different, O. Smith. I’ve begun editing already, while I’ve been with Severin. And I have a lot more to do. I can keep working without leaving him,” said Richie. 

James Smith opened his mouth to respond, and Richie anticipated his words, was already formulating an argument against them. He wouldn’t leave. He couldn’t. The documentary would get made, it was important, but he _couldn’t_ leave. 

The French nurse came bustling down the hall. Richie hadn’t even realized the nurse was awake. There was a beeping sound, coming from Severin’s room. 

_“Monsieur, monsieur!”_ cried the nurse. _“Je suis désolé, mais l'alpha a quitté sa chambre. Il va déchirer ses blessures! "_

Before Richie could try to make sense of the words he mostly didn’t understand, Severin appeared in the living room. As soon as he entered the room he looked immediately at Richie. The anxious nurse reached out to take Severin’s wrist, but Severin brushed him away. Even as he addressed the nurse he did not break his gaze from Richie’s. 

_“Je vais bien. J'ai juste besoin de mon oméga,”_ he said, and Richie barely registered that it was French. It was like he understood, if only from the intensity of Severin’s eyes, fiery with comprehension. 

Severin walked slowly, but didn’t waver, as he made his way across the room to Richie. 

Everyone was watching them in stunned silence. Richie wanted to move, to meet Severin halfway, throw himself at Severin. But Severin’s piercing eyes pinned him to his armchair. 

Severin fell to his knees before Richie. 

He took Richie’s hand, and the air sparked where their flesh met. Richie gasped as a sudden gush of emotion bled through to him; of shock and understanding and an absolute calm. Severin didn’t know where he was, but knew that Richie was here – finally understood it. That was enough, for now. 

Proving that he understood something else, Severin said, “You share my dreams.” 

Then his head was in Richie’s lap. Severin wasn’t crying, but his eyes were closed, as if the walk across the house had exhausted him. Richie’s fingers ran through Severin’s hair, which was finally getting longer. 

“He’s falling asleep,” remarked Victoire. 

“No - _non,”_ said James Smith. “Not yet. Please, O. Richie, wake your alpha – ” 

But Severin had heard and was sitting up again, although his hand didn’t leave Richie’s. He had no idea who James Smith was, Richie knew, but, like most people, he could sense that James Smith was an authority figure. 

_"Parlez-vous français?"_ asked James Smith. This much French Richie understood. 

_"Oui."_

_“Comment?"_

_“Parfaitement.”_ It was the first time in months Richie was witness to Severin’s calm, competent demeanor; it was like reuniting with Severin all over again – better, now, because Severin was aware enough to understand. 

_"Incroyable. Comment avez-vous appris?"_

_“J’avais été ici pour la moitié de ma vie. Comment ne pas apprendre?"_ Whatever it was he said, Severin’s accent sounded thick and authentic to Richie. 

“Severin,” he whispered. “How…how can you speak French?” 

Severin returned his attention on Richie. His eyes held warmth, and he said, “Twenty years on boats on rivers in parks. There are vast libraries you need to read, Richie. We can read it all together.” 

He kissed Richie’s hand, and turned back to James Smith. 

_“Qui êtes-vous?” Who are you?_

“You can call me James Smith.” He switched to English, although he let his French accent show. “I am a rebel, a resistor. A French omega serving as an alpha in the English army. I imagine you and I have worked together and against each other many times in the last twenty years, without ever meeting.” 

James Smith rose, although Severin did not. Richie knew why: It would be hard for Severin to stand, and he wouldn’t want anyone to see him struggle. 

Severin, like Victoire, was still at James Smith’s height from the floor. They shook hands, and James Smith said, “You saved my mate’s life, Severin Moran.” 

For a split, panicked second, Severin’s eyes locked onto Richie’s neck. 

“He means me,” said Victoire, standing. “You saved me, A. Moran. A French alpha, a stranger.” 

She and James Smith delivered their heartfelt gratitude, which Severin received in an unaware, surprised way. Although Richie had expected James Smith to resume what he’d evidently come to say, he left soon after, encouraging Severin to rest. 

This was fine with Richie. He was eager to get a clear-headed Severin alone. He hadn’t expected it to feel so reassuring to see Severin back to his normal self. Only now did he realize that part of him had never anticipated speaking to an awake and alert Severin at all. As if that had been too much to hope for. 

Severin told the nurse to go back to sleep, promising he’d go straight to bed. Once everyone had left the living room, however, Severin turned to Richie and said, “I want you on my lap, little one.” 

Seeing what Severin was about to do, Richie rushed to get out of the chair. Too late: Severin lifted him, even as Richie said, “You’ll hurt yourself, Severin.” 

Then Severin plopped down into the chair; Richie didn’t miss Severin’s cringe of pain as the motion doubtlessly tugged at his wounds, but soon enough he took Richie’s face between his palms, tilting Richie’s head up. 

“My little omega,” Severin said. “You followed me here?” 

Before Richie could answer, Severin leaned down and kissed Richie. Severin wasn’t passive now: He controlled the pace, didn’t let them break apart even as Richie worried about Severin getting out of breath. 

Finally, Severin tore himself from Richie’s lips as if Richie had been the one prolonging the kiss, and gasped, “What’s our status?” 

“What?” Richie asked. 

“How much can I touch you? Can I bite you? Do you want to get off my lap?” Severin paused. “Did you meet someone? Are they French, is that why you’re here?” 

“No,” said Richie sternly. “There’s only you.” 

Severin exhaled, and Richie felt the tenseness leave his body. 

“Thank God,” he whispered. “I’ve missed – I’ve _ached.”_ Severin paused as his voice quivered. He said, more surely, “You know how I’ve felt. You’ve seen me in my dreams.” 

“Your subconscious is interlaced with mine.” It made sense; it felt like a pragmatic, obvious reality, rather than the stuff of fantasy. Richie rested his hand flat against Severin’s cheek, and Severin nodded in agreement to Richie’s silent thought, because his thoughts were flowing to Severin through his touch, and that was just how that worked. 

How soul bonds worked. 

Their souls met, touched, communicated in all their dark and hidden places, connected their hearts and minds and – someday soon, Richie hoped - their bodies. 

  


Richie forgot he was supposed to be playing nurse and neglected to tell Severin to get back into bed. Instead, Severin caught Richie up in another hectic kiss. His lips kissed and sucked at Richie’s, at Richie’s jaw, his cheeks, his forehead, eyelids. Richie simply sat there, eyes closed, letting Severin take what he needed. What Richie needed to give. 

Severin, meanwhile, was letting out a stream of words, hardly any of which Richie could hear, none of which he could make sense of. They kissed, and Severin mumbled, “I thought you were my executioner.” They touched, and Severin’s hand roamed up Richie’s shirt, sliding over bare skin, re-familiarizing itself with beloved territory. 

This lasted well into the morning. The nurse didn’t seem surprised, hours later, when he found Richie and Severin unmoved from the living room armchair. Severin didn’t object when the nurse tried to coax him back to bed: By this time Severin was exhausted, only awake enough to get on his feet and walk back to the guest room, holding Richie’s hand the whole time. 

“I’d carry you,” Severin said, “but it feels like my body is on fire.” He quickly added, “Not in the good way.” 

They settled back into the bed. Pressed against Richie, Severin’s hand wrapped around and touched Richie’s chest reassuringly, resting over his heart. 

“A little in the good way,” he whispered. Richie laughed. 

  


“I trust you are well rested?” 

They opened their eyes in unison. James Smith stood by the bed. Richie sat up and clamored for a sheet, although he was dressed. The scene felt too intimate to be witnessed by a third party. 

James Smith, however, didn’t care. 

“I left, last night, although I don’t think either of you noticed.” He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out an envelope, setting it on the bedside table. “Severin Moran, you knowing French changes my plans entirely. I can work at a scope larger than I thought possible, if you help our movement. In all of my years of British army work, you are the first trained soldier I’ve heard of who possesses an advanced level of French. 

“There will be a car to pick you up tomorrow morning. I suggest, Richie, that you retrieve your possessions before it comes. The car will take you outside of Paris. Obviously I can’t tell you the address right now. But outside of the city, I expect you to continue editing your documentary until it reaches completion. Then you’ll ensure I have access to the finished work. 

He pointed to the envelope. “When I leave, you need to open that.” 

As he turned to go, Richie eyed the envelope. It would contain instructions for him to leave Severin behind as Severin healed. 

“I’m not leaving my mate,” Richie called out, and Severin put on a hand on his shoulder. 

James Smith stopped at the door. 

He said, “And I’m not fool enough to try and make you.” 

  


Richie wanted to leave the envelope untouched on the table, but as soon as James Smith left, Severin was up and stretching to reach it. Richie quickly grabbed it for him, not wanted Severin to tear his wounds. 

Severin took it and dumped out its contents. 

“This is my military I.D.,” he said immediately. Indeed: The I.D.’s picture was of him, although it must have been nearly ten years old by now. Richie was fascinated to see a not-yet-thirty Severin. He looked younger, some lines around his eyes and mouth vanished, but also harder, staring unflinchingly at the viewer. 

“Sebastian A. Moran,” read Severin, touching the letters that spelled out the wrong name. “This is exactly the same, except now…I’m my brother.” 

Richie had never had a passport before, but he did now. The picture was pretty good, he thought, and he even had a work visa stamped that permitted him to work in France for several weeks to come. 

“Travel documents. For both of us. Wherever that car is taking us tomorrow, Richard, it’s taking _us._ Both of us.” 

A sudden relief overwhelmed Richie. He dropped his new passport and collapsed into Severin’s arms. 

“Severin?” he said. 

“Yes?” 

“We don’t know where the car will take us. But can we make a promise?” Richie asked. 

“Not to leave each other again?” Severin said – not finishing Richie’s thought, but thinking it in unison with him. 

“Promise,” said Richie simply, and his saying it was good enough for the both of them.

  


* * * * 

  


“I will have to go get my things,” Richard said some time later, after they’d put away the contents of the envelope. “I was staying at another safe house, and I left all of my clothes, my books, my extra film – ” 

“For your camera on the bedside table?” Severin asked. 

Richard nodded. 

“Richard?” Severin said. “How did you end up in Paris?” 

“Dubois,” Richard said. “Baptiste Dubois. The model – ” 

“I remember,” said Severin. 

“He – he’s gathered a group of omegas, mostly. French and British. He’s recruited the largest force of anti-war agents in the history of this war, we think,” said Richard. “He approached me after our AlphaMan magazine shoot, before I even met you…” Richard looked down. His hands were folded in his lap. “I’m sorry, Severin.” 

“Shh.” Severin stroked Richard’s hair. “I wish you had told me – ” 

“I know, but I _swore_ – ” 

“I wish you would have told me so that I wouldn’t have looked like such an arse. How many times did I call Dubois useless?” Severin grimaced. “I feel like an idiot.” 

Richard just shook his head. Every movement seemed so precious, so unintentionally endearing. It was hard for Severin not to touch Richard as he’d like, but his body felt stiff and weak. Simply having Richard in front of him was enough. Was more than he’d hoped for in a long time. 

“And this documentary?” Severin said. “I heard you and James Smith.” 

Richard nodded. 

“So you’ve been…filming – what, exactly?” Severin asked. 

“Paris,” said Richard. “The French. Usually…” He swallowed, and they both sensed that Severin wasn’t going to like what Richard had to say. “Usually after there’s been a major attack or raid from the British, you know. I go to film it.” 

Severin exhaled. “Dubois’s been sending you out there.” 

“Well, it’s James Smith who runs things in Fra – ” 

“They’ve sent you out to sites they know are dangerous, when – ” 

“So that I can film,” Richard said, “and interview French civilians.” 

“Oh, that’s just perfect.” Severin snorted, drawing away from Richard and clenching his fists. “They get you, a foreign omega, to provoke the French right after they’ve been pissed off by a foreign army – ” 

“Stop it.” 

Richard’s voice was low, but his tone was hard. Severin had never heard that tone from him before. 

“Sorry, Richard?” Severin said. 

“My project is important. Yes, it’s dangerous, but it’s important enough to warrant the danger. It’s meant everything to me since you left me. And yes, Severin, it was _you_ who left me and it’s _you_ who hasn’t explained why you joined the army I’ve been fighting against. So don’t act like you’re angry at the people who are trying to stop this war because they’ve sent me out there, because I wouldn’t even be here if you’d never left.” 

Richard didn’t seem angry, exactly. But he spoke with a conviction that Severin wasn’t accustomed to, and for a moment Severin’s only reaction was to stutter incoherently. 

Then he cleared his throat. He said, “I love you, Richard.” 

“I know,” Richard said, guarded. 

“And I didn’t want to leave you. I had to. I was re-drafted,” Severin said. “You can’t blame me for having left when it was very much not a choice – ” 

“Were you ordered not to tell me?” Richard said. 

Severin’s silence was an answer. 

“Right. So you lied to me. You actually thought it’d be better to tell me you were choosing another mate over _me,_ than tell me the truth? You thought that wouldn’t hurt me, Severin?” 

“I thought you would forget me,” Severin said. “I wanted you to forget.” Richard’s expression was unmoved, so Severin added, “I couldn’t have told you. If I had, then you would have asked me why I was being re-drafted – ” 

“Yes. I’d love to know,” Richard said forcefully. “Why were you?” 

“Because I hadn’t found a mate,” Severin said. He took a deep breath, trying to stay calm. It wasn’t easy when Richard’s eyes blazed as they did now. “You have no right to be angry. I knew that if I told you, you would feel obligated to mate with me, and – ” 

“So you just decided to not let me know? No need to present the dumb omega with a hard decision?” 

Severin had never seen this side of Richard; he was relentless. 

“You’re not dumb,” he said softly. 

“A child, then. You think that I’m a child, and that you can make decisions for me. Do you know what would have happened if you told me, Severin? We would have mated. And we could both be home right now,” Richard said. 

“And then you would have lost your brother,” Severin retorted. 

Richard’s eyes flashed, then narrowed. 

“But as it turned out, I didn’t lose him. He lost me.” Richard’s voice sank dangerously low. “That’s what happens when people make decisions that should be mine to make. I leave them. And I don’t see them, I don’t speak to them. Ever again. I don’t miss them, either. Jimmy or Seb.” 

Severin couldn’t breathe. Richard’s voice was like stone, but all at once his downward eyes looked up at Severin, and he said, “The army never planned to re-draft you. They wanted you to tell me, so that I would come to a clinic with you and try to register as your mate. Then they were going to arrest me. They obviously didn’t expect you to behave as you did. You’re even more of a sexist alpha than the government is, Severin.” 

Severin gaped. It was difficult to imagine Richard as an outlaw; to look at his small frame and imagine it threatening enough for the government to plot against him. Severin was tired, and the room was blurring, and for once he wanted pain medication but he knew that pain medication was only for the physical kind of hurt, which wouldn’t help much. 

Then Richard said: “You’re lucky I love you so ridiculously much. Because I need you. I need to be with you. And I forgive you.” 

He leaned forward and kissed Severin. And Severin could breathe again. 

“Don’t ever keep anything from me again. These are our news rules: We don’t leave each other, and we don’t lie to each other. And if you do lie to me, I’m gone. Forever. I won’t see or speak to you. And I won’t miss you, either.” 

Before Severin could respond, Richard left the bed. He stood and said, “I really, really love you, Severin.” 

“I love you, too,” Severin said. They were the only words that felt right. 

“I’ve changed. A lot. I hope that you can cope with that,” said Richard, and finally his voice began to soften. 

“Of course,” said Severin immediately. “Anything, Richard. I just – I just want to be near you again.” 

Richard squeezed his hand, then said, “I have to go get my things now. I’ll be back in an hour.” 

“You better be,” Severin teased. “A very mean omega just gave me a serious talking-to, and I’m going to need you to make it better.” 

“What a cruel omega,” Richard agreed, bending down to kiss Severin. “I’m sure he’d want me to kiss you lots as soon as I get back.” 

“I hope so,” Severin said. 

“And I’m sure,” Richard added, just before he left, “that he’d want you to think about what he said until I get back.” 

And just like that, Severin’s favorite little omega closed the door, and went alone into the uncertain, gaping city. 

  


It could not be said that Richard didn’t deliver on his promises. As soon as he came back into the room, he set down his bags and went straight to the bed. Severin couldn’t remember him ever initiating before. His face was so determined and body so tense that Severin was going to ask what was wrong, before Richard was on top of him and kissing him. 

Severin reciprocated eagerly. Richard was careful not to press too much weight on Severin, but he was so light that Severin couldn’t imagine it mattering much. He could feel, though, Richard's body heat, his breaths turning to uneven pants, his kisses more frenzied. 

Finally they broke apart. Richard’s lips glazed Severin’s ear, and he whispered, “You’ve been here a long time.” 

Severin knew what Richard meant. It’d been much more than a week since Severin had had any type of release. His balls were sore and aching, pressure building. Richard’s fingers found their way to the drawstrings of Severin’s pants. 

Severin now knew that his memories were not hallucinations. Richard had taken care of him in every way. Including, he knew, a bedpan, and sponge baths, and some other things Severin didn’t want to think about. But these thoughts were pushed aside as soon as he saw Richard’s expression. 

It was one of want. Desperate, eager want. 

Richard’s lips were hot around his cock. His cock was rock hard, not waiting to shoot its release into Richard’s hungry mouth. Richard swallowed quickly, making sure the come didn’t get on the sheets. When the come overflowed from his mouth, staining his pink lips white, he stopped sucking and licked up Severin’s entire length, collecting the spilt come. 

After minutes he closed his eyes, smiling with his lips around Severin’s cock, seeming sated. His purr rumbled through his body. Severin felt lighter, his tenderness disappearing. He stroked his fingers through Richard’s soft hair, making sure to keep quiet, lest the rest of the house hear, but murmuring, “You’re so beautiful, Richard.” 

Finally, accepting that Severin’s body truly wasn’t equipped to come without an in-heat omega in sight, Richard pulled off of Severin’s cock and sat up, licking his lips. His pupils were huge. 

“I can’t mate while I work for Dubois,” Richard whispered, warily eyeing the door, which had no lock. “I’m taking heat suppressants.” 

“Good,” Severin said. “I wouldn’t want to send you into a heat.” 

Richard shook his head. “I can’t mate. Right now. But I want you to be my mate. I know it, now.” 

Severin's breath caught. It was all he wanted. It was nearly given to him. He wanted them to make some kind of vow, he wanted to communicate to Richard how much this meant, he wanted - Richard was still watching him, as if he were waiting for something. 

“I want you to be my mate,” Richard repeated firmly. 

Then it clicked. 

Severin leaned forward, scooped Richard up, and placed him into his lap. It seemed wrong to skip his lips, so Severin kissed there first, glad Richard had been so careful about licking up all his come. 

Then Severin’s mouth was pressed against Richard’s neck. 

Richard’s whole body quaked with the abrupt contact. His eyes momentarily rolled to the back of his head before he closed them, releasing a shaky breath. 

“Omega…” Severin breathed, and Richard whimpered at the sound of his voice. 

* * * * 

Severin’s lips were warm against Richie’s neck, each of his exhales sending electric tingles down Richie’s spine. Richie had been starved for this for so long, and finally… 

Severin skipped the neck kisses, seeming to understand that Richie needed pressure, something definitive, even possessive, after so many months of unbearable craving. He sucked and nipped and Richie trembled. 

Severin’s big hand rested flat against the back of Richie’s head. His intensity picked up, his breath hot, mouth warm. Richie’s eyes flickered; he couldn’t keep them open, couldn’t stop squirming. Severin’s hand supported his weight; he had only to accept the pleasure. As his whimpers grew to cries, Severin raised his other hand and slid two rough fingers into Richie’s mouth. 

Richie sucked fervently. Every time Severin licked his neck, waves of heat poured through him. The sensation was maddening – this was why orgasm was necessary. Without it Richie would never stop craving, would be utterly lost if he didn’t know how this was supposed to end. 

“Be quiet, little one,” Severin whispered, and slid his fingers out of Richie’s mouth. He lifted Richie’s limp body and pulled at his pants. 

Richie struggled to help, but his arms felt like jelly. Severin did most of the work, not managing to extricate Richie’s limbs completely but managing to free the necessary region. 

Severin’s cock pressed against Richie’s arse, not because either intended it but because Severin was still hard, and their position made it inevitable. 

Richie cried out as Severin’s come streaked Richie’s crack. 

“I want you in me,” he blurted. He began to bounce, small, stifled bounces. “Iwantyouinme, Iwantyouinme, Iwant – ” 

Severin’s fingers pressed against his tongue, and he resumed sucking, eyes wide, begging Severin for what they both knew wasn’t possible. 

Severin seemed pressed for limbs, having only two arms but one omega who needed to be touched, gagged, and supported all at once. Carefully, he lowered his other hand so that it supported Richie’s back and crept lower, first squeezing Richie’s cheeks. 

Richie moaned around Severin’s fingers, his head collapsing forward against Severin’s chest. 

Severin began to explore, fingers running up and down Richie’s crack. Finally they pressed up against Richie’s hole, and Richie realized they were slick with Severin’s come. 

“Mmm…” Richie bucked uncontrollably against Severin. 

As Severin’s first finger entered him, Severin resumed sucking against Richie’s neck. Richie stopped sucking Severin’s fingers and began to talk around them, babbling, begging. Severin was forced to slide in his remaining two fingers, sliding them deeper so that they threatened to tickle the back of Richie’s throat if he spoke. 

“Can’t have the nurses in here when you’re all full of come,” Severin growled. 

Richie closed his eyes again. He could feel only Severin’s fingers, three now, pumping in and out of his hole, sending his nerves tingling. He could feel only his neck, like it was on fire, aflame with pleasure. 

“I hear,” Severin said, his lips dragging wetly against Richie’s skin as he spoke, “that when an omega is in heat, they don’t need you to be so gentle anymore. And it’s true. If you were in heat, kitten, I could _drill_ your hole.” 

Just as he said it, his fingers pounded hard into Richie, faster and deeper than before. 

Richie struggled, moaning uselessly, just as Severin’s teeth bit into his neck. 

Richie saw stars – literal bursts of colors – behind his eyelids as he came. Severin bit not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to declare _mine._ Richie thought he himself must be screaming, but Severin’s hand was lodged deep in his mouth. Severin didn’t let up, his fingers still fucking Richie’s hole, merciless. 

Richie ached for something bigger but Severin made up for it in force. Just as the sensation became too much, he pulled out. Pulled his saliva-slicked fingers from Richie’s mouth, too. 

Richie only just remembered not to put all of his weight onto Severin. He collapsed onto the mattress, not caring that his arse was in the air and dripping with Severin’s come. Not caring that his own saliva wetted the corners of his lips. 

Minutes passed. Severin wiped Richie’s lips clean and stroked his hair. Richie felt like he was falling asleep, but he managed to say, “You _need_ to fuck me.” 

Severin barked out a laugh. “Insatiable, are you?” 

“No,” Richie said weakly. “It’s just…if this is _this_ good, then imagine what a heat would be like.” 

“Indescribable,” Severin agreed. 

Richie sighed, snuggling closer. Severin wrapped his arm around Richie and kissed the top of his head. 

  


* * * *

They fell into a light sleep for less than twenty minutes. They woke up nearly in unison, stirred by the other’s stirring. Severin felt that they were completely in harmony. Eventually, conscious enough to speak, Richard said, “Severin?” 

“Yes?” 

“Your car comes tomorrow. The nurses can help you get to it, but I’m…I’m worried.” At the first sign of Richard’s nerves acting up, Severin stroked his cheek. 

“Shh,” he said. “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.” 

“And if I’m not there?” 

“Hm?” 

“If I weren’t there to help you, do you think you’d be okay?” Richard asked. 

“I don’t understand,” Severin said. 

“We said we wouldn’t leave each other,” Richard said, “but it doesn’t count if we tell the other person where we are, and promise to come back to them. Okay?” 

“What?” Severin sat up. “No, that’s not okay, Richard. I don’t recall our promise having any exceptions.” 

Richard sat up too. 

“What is it?” Severin said. “I knew, as soon as you came in, that you were tense. I was going to ask what was wrong, but then you were kissing me. We promised not to keep secrets, you know.” 

“I know,” said Richard quietly. “That’s why I’m telling you that I’m staying in Paris. Because…” 

He got up and left the bed. He walked across the room and retrieved something from one of his bags. It was a newspaper. When he held it out, Severin thought for a moment that it was the same one Magnussen had shown him. But no – the picture was slightly different, and the headline read, **“BRITAIN’S FAVORITE ACTOR TO COME TO PARIS AND ENTERTAIN TROOPS.”**

“Did you know I’m coming to Paris?” Richard asked pleasantly. His eyes shone, and Severin realized he was holding in tears. 

“This is – ” Richard began, gesturing to the picture. 

“ – your brother,” Severin said. “I know.” 

Severin blinked, and said, “I saw a newspaper a few…weeks ago?” His forehead creased. “Before I got here. Before the hospital. Your brother was on the front page, Richard. I think he’s taken up acting. Under your name.” 

Severin saw Richard’s expression and said, “You didn’t know?” 

Richard shook his head. 

“I thought maybe he was covering for your absence, while you’re here,” said Severin. 

* * * * 

Richie looked down at the newspaper article again. It was definitely Jimmy, although it didn’t look much like him: He wore heavy makeup and a feather boa draped around his neck; plastered on his lips was a vapid, open smile, his eyes bright and shining with superficial naiveté. 

He didn’t look like himself, but he wouldn’t, because he was posing as Richie. Was this what he thought of Richie – what he’d always thought of Richie? And why would he want to look like Richie anyway? What right did he have to violate, to control – 

Hot tears pressed up behind Richie’s eyes, threatening to fall, and he took in an audible, shaky breath. Severin moved forward so quickly that Richie couldn’t stop him, and suppressed his own, pained hiss to say, “It’s alright, Richie.” His hand moved comfortingly over Richie’s back. “Jesus. Did he do something? I thought I was leaving you in good hands when I came to Paris. Instead you end up here, and you’re not speaking to him. What happened?” 

Richie wouldn’t cry. Absolutely not. He bit his lip, closed his eyes, took deep breaths. Counted, in his head, to ten. 

It was okay. He hadn’t cried, hardly at all, in the past four months, and he wasn’t going to do it now – 

He gave a sob. He quickly suppressed it, and dashed by into the bed. He shivered in Severin’s arms. 

And then it came out. 

The words, the story. How he’d felt after Severin left – the sickness, loneliness, not knowing if he’d ever feel alright again. How Jimmy had put poisons in his drink without telling him, how Severin and Richie should have mated ages ago. How Sebastian didn’t care. How he’d been on his own. 

How his brother, now, had his identity. And how he needed to get it back. 

* * * * 

And then came Severin’s half: Sleeping on hard wood with Richard’s blanket pressed against him like a poor imitation of skin. Training young alphas to be monsters, occupying a wronged land, arresting omegas who had the courage to stand up for themselves. Charles Augustus Magnussen’s cold, slimy eyes, and the existence Severin had led for too many years, designed, it seemed, to be entirely devoid of pleasure. How it felt to do horrible things when you didn’t want to; how it felt when horrible things were done to you. How it felt when other people made money off of these horrible, horrible things. 

They didn’t look each other in the eyes when they spoke, because they were holding each other so tightly that their chins rested on the other’s shoulder. Severin let Richard cry, even when Richard tried to hold it back. Severin had been holding it back, forcing it down and deep, for so many years, that it would take some time for it to make its way to the surface. 

* * * * 

“I don’t know what James is planning right now,” Severin said, “but I know what we’re planning.” 

“What?” Richie asked. 

“You want to confront him, right?” Severin asked. 

“Of course. I _will_ confront him. I’ll find out why he’s using my name and make him stop,” Richie said, full of determination. He noted that Severin still stiffened with surprise to hear his conviction. 

“And he’ll be touring military bases,” said Severin. “I can get onto a base with my altered I.D.” 

“Severin…” Richie bit his lip. “You’re wanted, Severin. The army’s posted pictures of your face all over the streets. I saw them when I went out today.” 

Severin shrugged. “And? Have some faith in me. I know how to make a few soldiers listen.” 

Richie pulled away, looking Severin in his eyes. “That’s dangerous. I don’t want you anywhere near a military base.” 

“We don’t split up. We promised. So either we do this, or we meet that car tomorrow morning and leave the city,” said Severin simply. 

It was a promise Richie had brought up himself. As much as he wished he regretted saying it, he didn’t. He didn’t know what he wanted to say to Jimmy, but he knew he’d want to have the confidence to speak his mind once his brother was before him. 

And that would be a lot easier with Severin by his side. 

Severin saw the answer in Richie’s eyes. He said, “Excellent. So tomorrow, a wounded outlaw and an omega with a vendetta break into a military base. Sound like a plan?” 

“It sounds like a terrible plan.” Richie giggled. 

Severin raised his arms in surrender; Richie didn’t miss the way he flinched. “Don’t blame me, kitten. I’m not the one steering this ship.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for typos.


	28. Base

Severin was undulated with night horrors, with memories of explosions and blood and firing steel. He forgot that the body beside him in bed harbored his own soul, and he woke and reached for it, to hurt it, to save himself, to save Richard. Richard shushed Severin, and took Severin’s head in his lap, and Severin was on the bottom of the world, so low bombs couldn’t reach. So far away he couldn’t hear explosions. 

“It’s safe here,” he told Richard, looking up. 

Richard knew he didn’t mean the bed, or the house they had to leave in the morning. He knew: His lap, their bodies, their unbroken togetherness.

  


By the time dawn came, Severin was sound asleep. Richie’s fingers never stopped stroking his hair. Richie could feel the circles beneath his own eyes, deep and heavy. He touched Severin’s shoulder, avoiding any place where it would hurt, and woke him wordlessly. Severin blinked dully, and Richie could see the muted pain in his tense face, although he didn’t ask for painkillers. Richie dressed wordlessly. 

As Severin drank some leftover broth from last night’s dinner – which Richie insisted he have – Richie reached for the gun on the bedside table, double checking that the safety was on. 

“Give me that,” Severin said. 

“Hush,” said Richie, putting it into his jacket. “I’m not going to a military base unarmed.” 

Severin raised his eyebrows. “I think it’d be better if I handled the gun, Richard.” 

Richie pursed his lips, patting his jacket to make sure it lay flat. “I need to change your bandages before we go.” 

Severin sat up, putting his soup aside as Richie tended to him. “You really are my little nurse,” he sighed, running a hand through Richie’s hair. Richie was careful to be gentle as he peeled the old bandages off. 

Severin’s hand lowered, skimming over Richie’s jacket. “I want the gun, kitten.” 

“The kickback from a gun could tear out your stitches,” said Richie. “And, besides. I’m an excellent shot.” 

“I don’t doubt that,” said Severin, although Richie knew he did. “I just want to be able to help you as much as you help me.” 

Richie tossed the old bandages in the bin, reaching for fresh ones. He pressed a kiss on Severin’s cheek. Severin could be exasperating, especially when he spoke of shooting guns when he could barely stand on his own. But that was Severin, wasn’t it? He wasn’t like Jimmy or Seb. If he frustrated Richie, it was always because he was trying to help. 

“You want to help me, Severin?” said Richie gently, keeping his voice down low so no one in the house woke. “Don’t take away my ability to help myself.” 

* * * * 

They took the keys to Victoire’s, James Smith’s partner’s, car, off of the kitchen table. Richie drove. 

“Your brother will probably be at the Second Northern Base. It has the biggest stage for entertainers – it’s where all the big actors and musicians go. So turn left here,” said Severin, “and drive straight until we get into the city. Also, did I mention, I really hate that you have the gun?” 

Richie followed his directions but ignored the gun statement. His palms were sweating against the steering wheel. Severin’s directions were thorough; there weren’t so many turns to make, but somehow Severin managed to talk most of the time, his low, certain voice keeping Richie much calmer than he would have been otherwise, although his stomach was still twisted in knots. 

They just needed to get into the base. Get in there safe, and then he could handle Jimmy. 

* * * * 

The guards at the barbed-wire fence were young, silly alphas who’d been drinking too much in preparation for “Richie’s” performance in a few hours, and they recognized Severin. 

“Co-mman-do, Sir,” one said playfully, giving a salute. “What are you doing with the world’s favorite little omega?” 

“I thought O. Brook was in his trailer,” said another soldier. She looked down at O. Brook with a starry-eyed gaze which Richie hadn’t received since leaving London. 

“He wanted me to show him a bit of the city,” said Severin impatiently, as if he were a superior who didn’t appreciate dimwitted comments. 

“No pro-blem-o, Co-mman-do,” said the first tipsy alpha. “Say, we have to pat you down first, though, right? Orders from the higher ups and all.” 

Everything was still for a moment. Richie almost lost his head. 

“O. Brook wouldn’t be comfortable with alpha hands on him,” Severin said, somehow, miraculously, keeping cool. 

“No, no, no, Co-mman-do, do you think we’re savages? We would never pat down a little omega,” chuckled the soldier. “But arms up, if you please.” 

Severin’s eyes made contact with Richie’s for the briefest of moments, and Richie sighed internally. Richie’s gun burned heavy in his pocket, but once Severin was cleared, they let the two pass. 

“Where’s the trailer?” Richie muttered. 

“In the back. Just follow me,” Severin said lowly. “And Richie?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Let’s make this quick, okay? They’re getting someone to arrest me now. They’ll need special documentation for a lieutenant, but I’m sure they have it ready somewhere,” he whispered. 

“What do you mean?” Richie nearly stopped walking, but Severin’s hand on his back kept him going. “They just let us through – ” 

“When was the last time soldiers were given orders to pat down a superior officer?” Severin said. Sensing that Richie was about to panic, he rested his arm on Richie’s shoulder and said, “Keep calm, little one. It could take them a bit to find the necessary documentation. I want us to get this done.” 

Walking past large, steel buildings, the entire idea of coming here seemed so stupid. Severin had known, of course he had known, that he wouldn’t be able to just waltz onto a base. Richie was so _stupid._ If he had realized, he wouldn’t have come here. 

“I want to leave,” Richie whispered. 

“It’s a little too late for that,” Severin said. They came to the back of a building. A single door was guarded by three soldiers; Severin showed them his I.D., and their eyes flashed in recognition. He knew that they knew; and they knew that he knew that they knew. Silently, they opened the door. 

Richie’s heart beat loudly in his ears and Severin’s boots echoed down a long, empty hall. 

“The stage is at the front of the building, but they’re keeping dear O. Brook very safe and guarded, in a trailer at the back,” said Severin. Severin turned a corner, and then he swayed, closing his eyes. 

“Are you okay?” Richie whispered, knowing he wasn’t, feeling helpless. 

“It’s just pain,” Severin said, and he forced himself to walk. 

There were two soldiers standing beside a door at the end of the hall. Richie felt an eerie wrongness as he saw the name on the trailer door: O. Richie Brook. 

The soldiers regarded Richie curiously as he walked towards them. Richie could see it on their faces: _But isn’t he in there…? Didn’t he just…?_

“O. Brook needs access to his trailer,” Severin said carelessly. 

“O - of course,” said one wide-eyed soldier, and they didn’t step aside, but they let Severin and Richie through. As soon as Severin closed the door behind them, he said, “They’re alerting someone now.” 

“Yes,” sounded Richie’s voice. “Someone will be here in ten minutes to shoot you.” 

Richie whipped around. Standing in front of a mirror, his back facing them, was Jimmy. It appeared absurdly that he had been doing his makeup. 

He stepped lightly towards Richie, like a ballet dancer. With each step he took, Richie felt himself getting smaller. His voice was fading; dying fast in his throat. 

“I didn’t think you were alive,” said Jimmy. He got so close to Richie that Richie could smell the powder on his face. He reached out and, with a single finger, stroked Richie’s cheek. “Or did your big, brave alpha keep you alive?” 

Richie opened his mouth; no sound came out. Severin was watching as from the sidelines; this wasn’t his show, wasn’t his part to play, but how were they going to get out? How could Richie have led them here? 

It became clear what needed to be done. 

“Can you help Severin get off this base?” Richie said. He sounded like a child. 

_Please, Big Brother. Please fix this._

“And why would I do that?” Jimmy asked. 

How was it possible that he was taller than Richie? Richie wasn’t sure when, but he’d stepped back, so he was up against the wall, shrinking down and looking up. 

“He won’t be okay unless you help him,” whispered Richie. “They’ll arrest him…” 

“That’s rather the point,” Jimmy purred. “Tell me, Richie: Why did you come here? I honestly had no idea you were alive. I assumed you must have frozen to death on the streets of London, although it _was_ always curious that they never found a body.” Jimmy tsked. “That’s beside the point. You could have stayed away from me, and gone on well enough. Why are you here?” 

Richie looked helplessly towards Severin. Severin nodded at him, encouraging, like a parent. 

“I – I want my identity back,” Richie whispered. _Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry._

“Oh, but dear. You gave that one up, didn’t you, darling? You could have been my perfect little pet, but you didn’t _want_ it. I tried to keep you safe, but you were never grateful, were you? I’m sorry, pet, but I don’t have room in my empire for misbehaving omegas.” Jimmy cut himself off short, looking towards the door. Richie hadn’t heard anything, but it swung open, and Jimmy, putting his fingers together, said, “Ah. Greetings, Magnussen.” 

A tall man with cold, sickening eyes entered the room. Richie’s stomach lurched as the man looked at Severin with recognition. He then looked away, as if Severin weren’t worth considering, and he didn’t glance at Richie at all. 

“You have guests,” he said to Jimmy. 

Jimmy’s lips pressed down, and Richie knew he was the only one in the room who could sense how much that annoyed Jimmy; simple, obvious statements like that. 

“Not guests, just pets. And they were just leaving,” said Jimmy. 

“Oh, no. Please, stay,” said Magnussen. “Feel free to sit down. There’s no need to hurry out.” He walked farther into the room, leaving the door open behind him. “It is shockingly stupid of you to be here, Severin Moran. Did you honestly think you wouldn’t be recognized?” 

Severin was about to answer, but Magnussen’s attention was already back on Jimmy. “My betas say there’s an issue with the number you gave them.” 

“Your betas are wrong,” Jimmy said. 

“You’re asking for too much money,” said Magnussen. 

“I’m not asking. I’m telling you the precise amount. You want bombs, guns, shiny new throwers? You want enough weapons to take over Europe? I have access to them, you don’t, and for as long as you want England to think you’re the one with the weapons deals, you’ll give me whatever price I name.” 

A moment passed; Jimmy never had to pause to think, but evidently Magnussen was considering, collecting his words. 

“I could have someone come in and kill your brother right now,” Magnussen said, as if he were offering a lemon drop. 

“I don’t have a brother,” Jimmy said. As they spoke, neither of them looked at Richie or Severin. “And my price wouldn’t change.” 

This gave Magnussen pause. The callousness in Jimmy’s voice made it clear, to all, that he wasn’t bluffing. 

“We should discuss this business in private,” said Magnussen suddenly. “I’ll call a guard to escort this little one off of base, shall I? The alpha will stay, though, he’s too much trouble. Although, of course, I hear he’s wounded.” 

Before Severin could move, Magnussen’s hand shot out, nails digging like claws into Severin’s back. His milky eyes watched Severin, fascinated, as Severin swallowed back a scream, falling to his knees. His face contorted in pain was the only thing Richie could see, searing at his heart. 

Magnussen turned towards the door and opened his mouth wide to call for assistance. As he inhaled, Richie pulled out his gun, switched off the safety, aimed, and shot. His fingers pulled hard at the trigger, and his feet were positioned right, catching him as the kickback jolted through his shoulder. 

The sound was a single, explosive boom. Before Magnussen’s body hit the floor, Severin jumped into action, slamming shut the door as the fists of guards pounded against it. He locked it, shoved Jimmy aside, and grabbed the chair in front of the mirror. As he worked on jamming the door shut, Richie pointed his gun at Jimmy. Everyone ignored Magnussen’s body. 

For a split second, Jimmy’s hand went to his chest, as if to say, _“Surely not me?”_

“You’re going to get us off of this base,” Richie said. His voice was strong, and it didn’t quaver. “But first you’re going to listen to me.”


	29. Away

From the other room Severin could hear clicking, clacking, tap-tap, typing. He closed his eyes and imagined little fingers. He grimaced and bit his wrist, as behind his back his hands fumbled with a tangle of day-old bandages. 

His skin sparked tender and irritated, but the bandages didn’t stick; his back harbored no infection. His antibiotics had dwindled to five pills at the bottom of a bottle, and the nurse he’d seen just before James Smith sent them off had ordered him to two months of rest – not bed rest, quite, but house rest. 

Yes, James Smith had sent them away in a car; a car to a train; a train to a boat; here was the island. It hadn’t mattered much to James Smith that they'd gone to the base; only that they'd come back again. But when Richard had told James Smith to expect changes in London in the coming weeks, he’d said only, “We’ll see, we’ll see.” 

Audio came from the other room; Richard didn’t use headphones. Shouting, curses in French. Someone barking at others to run; an omega crying. Then an explosion; trashcans hurtling down the street, a brick wall crumbling. 

_My little omega, what did you see in old ev-il_ Par-is? _When did that happen?_

Perspiration trickled down Severin’s arms; his heart raced as if he needed to run from the bomb let off in the other room. Recordings of Paris made him remember that, outside of their cottage, the war waged on. 

But it didn’t wage in here. Richard worked for hours, receiving periodic faxes from James Smith, who gave his final thoughts on what the documentary should include. Richard would stop to tend to Severin when he could, but Severin preferred not to remind him that he was needed. 

Days went by; Severin’s omega worked. Severin spent more time sleeping than Richard, but he would always wake up in the earliest hours of the morning when, exhausted, Richard would collapse into their bed and his arms. 

Despite Severin’s chronic pain and Richard’s chronic preoccupation, Severin found himself more content than he’d been since he was a boy. He spent long, sprawling hours walking aimlessly through their Corsica cottage. James Smith had cautioned them to stay mostly indoors despite their remote location. Still, Severin looked out the front window, at the shell-pink flowers that sprouted from the cliff of granite they sat on; out the back window, at the cerulean bay that spread beneath and before them, leading sightlessly to a land where war existed, although that seemed impossible here. 

When Richard worked, Severin tended to the house. He put fruit on the table; sheets on the bed. He spent long hours sitting next to Richard, watching his fingers move, loving his hands, while Richard worked undistracted. On their bedside table was a bottle of heat suppressant pills, sitting next to Severin’s antibiotics. It was never commented on. Severin accepted it as a necessity, considering his injuries and Richard’s work. In the meantime he dusted shelves and washed away the neglect that had settled over the cottage, abandoned by vacationers since wartime. He set dinner out for Richard, ingredients retrieved from a tiny store miles away, so far it ached his back to walk. He watched Richard eat, watched his mouth move. Loved his mouth moving. Days passed and he knew they were incomplete, unfinished, on the verge, but he was settled. 

Every morning he turned on the television, just to see. 

One morning he saw. 

“Richard,” he called. The television was on mute – he wouldn’t want to distract Richard – but a news camera hovered from a helicopter in London, giving an overview angle of a building he recognized. “Richard, he’s done – ” 

“He did it.” Richard appeared in the doorway. “Severin!” Severin jolted; what was wrong? “Why are your bandages falling off?” 

“What? Oh, I…” He lifted his arms as Richard began to fuss, expertly removing the wrap while looking at the screen. 

The West London Clinic was incinerated; walls were caved in and exam tables crushed. Severin tried absurdly to locate the exact room where he’d gone in for his weekly appointment, or even the room where Dr. Tanaka had interrogated him. Wherever they were, they were ash now. 

“Any casualties?” Richard asked. 

“None,” said Severin, who’d been keeping up with the captions at the bottom of the screen. “He used throwers, Richard, like they did at the hospital here – I mean, at the hospital in Paris. He did it at night, when only the cleaning staff was in. They were all on the north side, though, and he started at the south side. Everyone got out in time.” 

“Wait – what is…?” 

Severin looked again to the screen, grabbing the remote and turning on the volume. 

A beta news anchor said: “Reports from Switzerland claim that one of their largest pharmaceutical factories was mysteriously robbed in the night. Contraceptive supplies ranging from birth control to alphic condoms – these are family destroying materials considered illegal throughout the U.K. – went missing, with no signs of evidence or suspects. Swiss authorities suspect an inside job, while U.K. authorities remain on high alert, anticipating an imminent plot to smuggle in contraceptives. We remind viewers that England’s Rewards for Justice program offers up to five million pounds for any valuable information regarding contraband contraceptives.” 

Severin laughed aloud. He looked down, kissing Richard’s hair ecstatically and repeatedly. 

“My little – ” he kissed, “ – brave – and beautiful – warrior. Look at what you’ve done!” 

“What Jimmy’s done,” Richard corrected. 

“What you made him do,” said Severin. 

Richard looked down, trying in his cute way to hide his smile. “Yes. I suppose I did.” 

“The Marriage Promotion Center will be next,” said Severin. “Or the rest of the alpha clinics. He’ll blow them all up, distribute contraceptives, and – ” 

“Then Baptiste Dubois will leak information to the government, vilifying my brother, who’s currently me,” said Richard. 

Severin blinked. “Do you think they’ll give him ‘up to five million pounds?’” 

Richard giggled, delighted. “Oh, but the resistance could use that! It’s all happening,” he said, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Everything – everything is calm here, but I can feel it miles away. Unfolding.” 

“And we’re the only people in the world to know it,” said Severin. 

“Besides Jimmy,” Richard pointed out. The name once sounded like a cutesy endearment to Severin, when it came from Richard’s lips; now it rang with a coldness, as if ‘Jimmy’ were a stranger they happened to have collaborated with. 

“It was so sweet of you to let him keep your name,” said Severin. 

“So sweet of him to take it,” said Richard. “Not, of course, that he had a choice.” 

Severin leaned down, always sensing instinctively when Richard wanted to reach him. Richard kissed his cheek and whispered in his ear: “I’m sorry I forgot about your bandages.” 

“Shh, kitten,” said Severin. “Go get back to your work.” 

Richard smiled a small smile. 

“Unless you want to take a break with me?” Severin offered. 

The smile widened. 

“Kitten?” 

In a very, very small voice: “I’m done.” 

* * * * 

The ship was to arrive on Corsica shores three days from then, which meant Richard had finished his editing early. A resistance ally would take Richard’s laptop and keep it safe for those who could use it; sending files over the Internet was not, at this time, secure. 

Three days gave them time. 

“I wish I had popcorn,” Severin joked, settling into the bed. Richard balanced the laptop on Severin’s knees and curled up around Severin’s offered arm. 

As the opening credits rolled – crediting no one, actually, but explaining that an anonymous omega had filmed the city of Paris in recent months – Severin looked at Richard. He felt filled with love, almost as if he were a balloon and could float to the ceiling of the room, he felt so good with love. 

The screaming began. 

“She – that omega there – was actually my first interpreter. But when her arm was blown off she couldn’t come out on missions with me anymore,” said Richard idly, pointing to the screen. 

“This is the February riot,” said Severin. 

“Uh-huh.” 

Richie seemed calm, unflustered. He was desensitized to all this now; he’d been through it and so it couldn’t frighten him. He’d shot a man, and so he would never be scared again. 

Except for sometimes, at night. Severin could see Richard’s nightmares. 

“This is upsetting you,” Richard said, noticing the way Severin had gone stiff. He tapped a key and the screen paused on a British soldier, in all black, heavily armed. 

“You saw a lot,” said Severin. 

“Enough to make a movie,” Richard teased. When he looked in Severin’s eyes, he added, “But maybe I don’t need to see it again.” 

“Maybe not,” agreed Severin. 

Richard closed the laptop, and they spent the afternoon in bed. 

* * * * 

At night, Magnussen’s body fell to the floor. James stood before it, clad like a priest in a long, white alb. He explained meticulously the sins made manifest in the room. 

“Committed with full knowledge of its consequences, of your own will, it’s hardly deniable that what we have here is a mortal sin, brother,” explained James pedantically. 

“Murder is excused during wartime,” Severin offered, because Richard was standing there, looking at the body and holding the gun. 

“Murder is excused for alphas during wartime,” James pleasantly agreed. “But there’s not a single verse in all the books that considers an omega who’s murdered in any context whatsoever. You’ve committed an unspeakable crime, brother.” 

“He hasn’t,” argued Severin. “It wasn’t mentioned, which means it’s allowed.” 

“Murder in general is forbidden,” said James. 

“Murder of the innocent,” said Severin. “This beta has killed thousands – ” 

“He didn’t, though, did he? He only incited. I can’t think of any law that forbids the _incitement_ of battle, of – ” 

“I’ll make up my own mind about the murder, thanks,” Richard snapped. James and Severin were struck as silent as the corpse. 

Richard lowered his gun, and at first Severin thought he meant to put it on the floor. Then he pointed the gun at Magnussen’s bullet-bashed head, and pulled the trigger. 

* * * * 

They held hands on the way back from the shoreline. Richie noticed that Severin was walking much more easily than he had last week. It made him a little sad that he’d been so occupied he hadn’t noticed a stage in Severin’s healing. 

But mostly he felt wonderful. He felt oddly as if he were falling, or floating, or nearing some altered state of consciousness that would more precisely allow him to express the absolute, adoring feeling he felt. 

There was no path to the cottage; this part of the island was too remote. They moved in unison, deciding the best way to first climb granite rock, then cross maquis-covered knolls. They brushed the outline of a forest, where long, straight-trunked trees grew tall and leafy, dulling some of the sun’s harsher rays. The trees towered over Riche on one side; on the other was Severin. Richie looked up at Severin, at his handsome face. Which made him feel smaller? 

He realized suddenly that he didn’t feel small when he looked at Severin at all. He felt huge, in fact, enormous – filled to the brim and expanded within – with this feeling, this – wonderful – 

A breeze blew softly against Richie’s cheek, filling his lungs with the alphic scent of Severin. Severin’s hand suddenly burned against his, boiled his body. 

“Severin,” he whispered, but Severin had already turned to him. 

He smelled it, too: He knew. 


	30. Life After War

At the cottage, there was an orange bottle next to Severin’s antibiotics. When was the last time Richie had remembered to open it? It didn’t seem a mistake, though; perfectly natural that it should happen here, right now – 

Richie cried out. 

“Please,” he said. A wave crashed over him, not cleansing him but coating him in lust. He felt utterly open, unbearably empty. It was dripping down him: hot, wet need. He was covered in it, he was it. 

“The cottage,” said Severin, and Richie had no idea what he was talking about. 

He opened his mouth to beg, please, please, please, why wasn’t Severin moving? But he couldn’t form words, he didn’t have them. He stumbled forward, closing the short gap between them, and nuzzled Severin’s chest. He smelled Severin’s shirt, the scent emanating off of him like an aura. Then he looked up. 

Severin blinked down at him, making eye contact. Richie saw his pupils dilate, only a thin blue rimmed around them. 

Severin moved. 

He reached down so quickly that Richie didn’t realize he was being carried at first, only that he was suddenly in the air. Severin was running into the forest. Why? Why couldn’t they fuck here, please, please, Severin, please, pleasepleasepleaseplease – 

“Shh, little one. I’ve got you,” Severin cooed. He was moving fast, now, frantic but somehow controlled. How could Severin be so composed? Please, please – 

Richie fell, and he thought Severin had simply dropped him, but Severin’s arms were beneath him, there wasn’t any pain. He was on the ground, and he spread his legs; his hole was wet, pulsing. But Severin _still_ wasn’t touching him, he was doing something else. Richie could scream – 

Severin was tearing off Richie’s clothes. Richie squirmed, hoping that would help, would make them go faster, but a big, flat hand on his chest stopped him. 

Then his bottom was bare. His hole was displayed and exposed to the fresh air. His arms moved frantically, pawing at Severin. He couldn’t process; everything came in flashes: Severin’s zipper down, hands on Severin’s chest; shirt torn; leaves beneath him; head on moss; ass in the air, waiting for; Severin’s cock, out. 

He was so far gone that by the time Severin was nude he had absolutely no idea what they were supposed to do. He ached for Severin’s cock; but for what, where? He simply needed, needed, please, please – 

“Oh! Nnngh!” 

Severin’s cock plunged deep inside him. His hole was open and lubricated; entering was no problem. The moment Severin was inside, Richie’s nerve endings sparked, flared within him. His body was fireworks, crackling off. He writhed, grabbing for Severin. What was rubbing against his chest? Severin’s bandages. Severin was hurt, he needed to be careful. But he pulled Severin close to him; his own knees were bent, in the air; he was on his back; Severin’s cock was in him; Severin’s cock, Severin’s cock, Severin’s cock. 

Severin’s mouth was on his skin as Severin thrust. His lips were against his ear, speaking. Words? What were words? Richie’s hands were in Severin’s hair; they were pressed together so tight; they were one, and Richie needed him. 

Severin’s cock; thick, inside him, then deeper inside him. Inside him, then deeper inside him. It was almost too simple; it drove him mad. Deeply; inside. He was absolutely mad, this was madness; he could only moan. Their voices echoed back to them from the spaces between trees, their need reverberating infinitely. 

Then Severin growled, and Richie’s eyes shot open. He watched Severin’s face contort as Severin thrust harder, harder, oh, oohh… 

Richie writhed, Severin was inside him, and – and – coming – hard – 

Richie’s scream shivered the leaves and startled a stream of warblers off their branches, to the sky. 

Severin’s knot filled him up. Richie’s orgasm gradually passed, and he became aware of a shape inside of him; of Severin’s knot fitting perfectly into the place that had been tragically empty for his lifetime of heats. 

Richie’s wriggling limbs ceased to stir. He seemed to sink into the leaves, the layered, soft ground. The moss was like a pillow, and Severin was above him, looking down. 

Then Severin leaned over him, and this was it. Severin’s hand on his neck, his mouth brushing against him, leading itself to precisely the right spot. Richie’s neck prickled with pleasure, and he needed pressure, and then it was there. 

Severin’s teeth were on him. Richie gasped, electrified. He held Severin close, hands pressed against Severin’s back, Severin’s wound, but pain didn’t exist right now. 

Severin stilled, his mouth around Richie’s neck, his cock in Richie’s ass, and Richie became hyperaware of Severin’s heartbeat. Severin’s blood pumped through his veins, Severin’s breath in Richie’s nose, in and out, just so. This was Severin’s oxygen, and this was Severin’s mouth. It salivated, his jaws opened wide enough to let his tongue rest against Richie’s neck. That was Severin’s tongue, and here was the way Richie tasted to Severin. Richie’s perspiration was in his mouth, and it was all Severin wanted. Here were Severin’s eyes, and Richie could see through them. There was the view of Richie’s ear, a freckle, his hair; his hair was soft against Severin’s skin. Richie was so wet; and did he know what that felt like, how perfectly tight he was against Severin’s cock?

  


And these were Richard’s eyes, and Severin realized for the first time how unaware of his own eyes Richard was; how he could see through them without knowing the hypnotic power he owned. How was it that Severin had once blamed Richard for his eyes? 

These were Richard’s breaths; his lungs were so much smaller; in and out, hush shush, shush hush. Richard consumed so little of the earth, but he didn’t feel little. His body felt heavy just like Severin’s; it ached just like Severin’s. Severin was an omega, he was Richard, and it was the same as anything he’d ever known. 

  


Richie opened his eyes the moment Severin’s mouth released him, when his cock slipped out of Richie’s hole. Were they two again? he wondered faintly, only wanting to know the answer if it was what he hoped for. 

Right when he opened his eyes, he saw a flash of silver. It went into him; into Severin. Their souls, moving around. 

But which silver belonged to whom? 

“Severin,” Richie spoke. His throat was hoarse, although Severin’s bite hadn’t hurt in the least. He wanted… 

“Your mouth,” he said, and this time Severin moved before he could grow frantic. Severin was hard again, they were ready, and Severin's mouth clasped around his neck. This time, at least, they did not have to wait. 

  


Severin worked out a system. There were small increments of time between his aching and his next aching. Richard was loose and cooperative. After he pulled out of Richard, he brought Richard closer and closer to where he knew a small waterfall lay, in a clearing in the middle of the forest. 

They stayed naked; the thought of clothes again his skin, of _anything_ against his skin exempting his omega, was unbearable. His vision flickered between what he saw and what Richard saw; the same view with angles slightly shifted. One breath he took was made with alphic lungs; the exhalation came out softly omegic. 

Ferns and moss grew around the waterfall; the water ran clean and clear. Severin dipped Richard’s cupped hand in and brought it to Richard’s mouth. He felt the water run down Richard’s throat, was quenched before he took a swallow himself. 

The light grew dim. In their minutes-long break, it was impossible to think he’d be able to grow hard again, that Richard could want his knot once more. His come dripped from Richard’s hole, and the sight of it made him stir. 

Richard moaned in his throat; his omega wasn’t so good with words, today, but that was okay. 

The sun was sinking and he entered Richard again. So they were to spend the night here, like this, by the stream and far away from human eyes. 

Severin didn’t need his antibiotics, or food, or anything but the stream and Richard’s body. Who could ever feel pain again, after this? 

  


The cottage couldn’t have been more than a twenty minute walk away. But the sun rose and the sun sank, and they couldn’t bear to wait that long. What was the use of indoors? Would it make Severin’s thrusts somehow deeper? Would it allow Severin to more tightly bite Richie’s neck? 

Certainly by the fifth day, their refractory periods were such that they _could_ have returned. Severin’s bandages had long since fallen off, and his medicine was all but forgotten. But was his back not healing at a rapid rate? When Severin grew tired but still yearned, Richie sat atop of him, and nothing compared to the breeze through his hair as Severin watched him bouncing, at Severin reached up to tease his nipples, as Severin’s cock filled him and left him entirely and in every way satiated. 

* * * * 

The television was on mute again; they knew the context of what was happening better than anyone, but they wanted to see the pictures. 

“There must be a million people in the streets,” said Severin. They looked like ants in Trafalgar Square, yielding protest signs and roaring as one; you couldn’t tell who was an omega, alpha, or beta. 

“All because I’ve been arrested,” said Richard happily. They weren’t wearing clothes because, while a week had passed and surely the heat was over, neither of them could imagine covering themselves. Richard sat on Severin’s lap, and Severin was distinctly aware of his scent, of his pert ass rubbing against Severin’s cock. Severin ignored it. Their heat was over. But when he bent down, just to give Richard’s neck a nibble – because he could do that now, nowhere was forbidden – Richard shivered violently against him. 

“James Smith will release the documentary any moment now,” said Severin. “He’ll do it while everyone’s up in arms because England’s arrested the first English omega.” 

“Yes, of course. ‘Look at how many omega’s we’ve abused abroad.’ Everyone will be appalled,” said Richard, moving closer to Severin, back against chest. He was panting slightly. 

“It’s revolution time,” said Severin. 

Neither of them spoke what was on their minds: They should return to England. Was that where their duty lay? 

“The thing about both our brothers,” said Severin, “is that they hate the system so much. Your brother had to navigate around being an omega, working through people like Magnussen, fighting to make the world take him seriously. And Seb has always wanted nothing more than to be a military alpha. I bet they thought they were fighting the system, too, by not following the rules.” 

“But they were only profiting from it,” said Richard. “I really haven’t done anything so awful to my brother. Arrest is hardly the worst of what he deserves.” 

“You’ve only forced him to play a part in bringing down what he hated anyway,” said Severin. 

“I hardly think of him,” said Richard, turning so he could look up at Severin. “But you know, I think Jimmy always hated me. At least a little bit. Because I like being an omega, and I’ve only ever wanted what an omega _should_ want.” He reached out and rested a hand on Severin’s heart; Severin’s heartbeat quickened. 

“But now he should realize that you were the one fighting,” said Severin. 

“Oh, he won’t realize,” said Richard, so simply that Severin knew it was true. “He’ll hate me for the rest of his life.” 

“Do you want to talk to him again?” Severin asked. 

“Not at all,” said Richard, and he turned completely, facing Severin. “I have what I want.” 

“Really? And what’s that?” Severin asked, grinning. 

Richard looked up, and Severin leaned down. They kissed in the special way of theirs, Severin’s tongue in Richard’s mouth, and Severin blindly reached for the remote and turned off the television; let London go on without them. 

  


Let the world turn on its axis without them, just for now. Richie had what he wanted, and his alpha’s cock was bobbing insistently against his bottom again. It wasn’t so urgent, maybe; they could take it slower, maybe. But the heat wasn’t over, it still simmered inside him – inside Severin, too – and it dawned on him that their heat may never be over, that they could carry out the rest of their lives burning like this. 

“I waited for you for so long,” said Severin. “My mate.” 

“My mate,” Richie murmured in turn, eyelids fluttering as Severin mouthed along his neck, holding the back of his head. 

“The world can wait for us,” said Severin. “I’m not leaving right now.” 

Richie lifted his hips, listening to Severin’s soft growl as Richie sat on his cock, taking him in. The last thought he had before he was consumed with pleasure was one he was sure Severin could hear, because Severin always heard him. 

_I know where my duty lies._

It lies right here.


End file.
